


The Thirteenth Bunker

by HawthorneWhisperer



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: F/M, Ficlet Collection
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-03-09
Updated: 2018-09-23
Packaged: 2018-10-01 16:38:22
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 84
Words: 73,059
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10194104
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HawthorneWhisperer/pseuds/HawthorneWhisperer
Summary: Yet another ficlet collection.Mostly bellarke, intermittently smutty.





	1. Roman Impuses

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> From an anon request for bellarke getting engaged.

Bellamy’s eyes were closed, his head her in lap, but Clarke knew he was awake.  His breathing got heavier when he was asleep, and every so often when she’d brush a curl back from his forehead a tiny smile would flit across his face.  A few tourists trickled past but with the museum closed for the day, most of the inhabitants of the park were Romans enjoying the early evening sun.  Clarke loved this time of day and she and Bellamy had taken to spending it in the park now that it was warm out. She would sketch and he would work out a plan for the dig the next day, trading kisses whenever they felt like it.  Sometimes they just laid together, watching the sun turn everything golden. **  
**

Clarke trailed her finger across his cheekbone and Bellamy’s eyes opened.  They were so dark she could get lost in them, warm and deep and shining with love.  A chance meeting at the Piazza Navona nine months ago had turned into the best relationship of her life. Sometimes she woke up beside him and wanted to pinch herself to make sure it wasn’t a dream.  Bellamy lifted his head to press a kiss to her lips. The angle was awkward, but it felt so natural it took her breath away.  He laid his head back down and furrowed his brow.  “What is it?” he asked.  He was fiddling with the ends of her hair like he always did, unconsciously but gently.

“Marry me.”

Bellamy half sat up and looked around, like he expected to see a judge and an altar waiting nearby, or like he thought cameras from a prank show would suddenly emerge.  “What?”

“Marry me,” Clarke repeated, and it was insane but it also felt right. And Clarke didn’t second guess her instincts.

“Like right now?” he asked, but he was smiling.

“If you want.  Or we could wait until we’re back in the states; I assume you want Octavia around and I should probably invite my mom.  But I want to marry you.”

“You’re serious,” he said with wonder.  He sat up fully and cupped her cheek in his hand, his thumb caressing her jaw.

“I always am,” she said, and Bellamy chuckled.

“Do you have a ring?  Or is this as spur of the moment as I think it is?”

“A ring is your job,” she teased.

“If we’re going to be that heteronormative then I should be the one asking,” he threw back.

“You still haven’t answered me,” she pointed out, and he swooped in to kiss her like they were in her tiny studio near Termini and not in the Borghese gardens, surrounded by dozens of people.

“Of course I’ll fucking marry you,” he said and then it was her turn to kiss him back.


	2. Fixing Things

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> From an anon prompt for drunk!Bellarke.

Clarke readjusted her grip on the whiskey bottle and waited.  Bellamy opened his door and immediately his face went from confused to annoyed.  “What are you doing here?”

Clarke pushed his door open and shouldered her way in.  “We’re fixing this,” she announced.

“Fixing what?  And I don’t remember inviting you in, princess,” he said, but he shut the door behind her anyway.  Clarke thumped the bottle down on his table and started opening cabinets until she found shot glasses.

“You and me.  Octavia said she’s going to kill me if we don’t start getting along, so whatever our shit is with each other, we’re going to deal with it.”  She inspected the shot glasses to make sure they were clean— they were, and Bellamy sent a dark look her way for doubting him— and nodded at his table.  “Well?  Sit,” she said, and Bellamy kicked out a chair and flopped into it with ill-humor.

“You know this is my house, right?” he said as she poured each of them a shot.  Clarke ignored him and threw hers back.  “So what are we doing?” he asked, resigned.  “Or are we just going to drink until we don’t hate each other?”

“That’s roughly the plan, yeah,” she said, her eyes watering a little.  She poured herself another shot and waited for Bellamy to take his before topping him off.  “First of all, I don’t hate you.”  Bellamy snorted and she tamped down her irritation.  “I don’t,” she insisted.  “I find you aggravating.  There’s a difference.”

Bellamy cut her a look over the top of his shot glass and sighed.  “I don’t hate you either,” he gritted out.  “Do I have to do this straight?  Can we have chasers?”

“I didn’t bring any, what do you have?”

“Nothing that will work with whiskey.  You seriously didn’t bring a chaser?”

“I didn’t think you’d need one.”

Bellamy closed his eyes in frustration and sighed again.  “Okay, so we don’t hate each other.  We’ve established that.  Now what?”

Clarke shrugged.  “Tell me something about yourself.”  They had to have common ground somewhere, she figured.  She had just never bothered to try and find it, but Octavia and Raven had told her on no uncertain terms that she and Bellamy had to stop bickering or there would be hell to pay.  Booze was the easiest way to bond with someone, so here she was.

It was a plan, at least.  Not a good one, but a plan.

Bellamy, however, was doing his best to sink her plan before it got off the ground. “Tell you what?  You know me.”  He took his second shot and she poured him another one.

She swallowed a groan of annoyance.  “I don’t know, something.  Something that will make me like you.”  This shot of whiskey went down easier, but it still burned in her chest.

“I thought you already said you did.”

“No, I said I didn’t hate you.  Again, there’s a difference,” she retorted, but found a tiny smile tugging at the corner of her lips.  She fought it, but it seemed to her like his eyes were dancing with amusement.

“Okay…I went to senior prom with pink nail polish on because Octavia wanted to help me get ready and I wouldn’t let her put my hair in braids.  Your turn.  Tell me something that will make me like you.”

Clarke couldn’t fight her smile much longer.  “I got suspended my freshman year of high school for calling a teacher a bigot.”

“You got suspended for that?”

“It was supposed to just be detention, but I organized a protest instead of going.  I doubled down so they did too.”

His smile flashed, and she noticed— not for the first time— how handsome he was.

* * *

 

Two hours later, they were officially friends but Bellamy’s floors had started to roll up and down like waves.  Clark stumbled out of his bathroom and tripped halfway down the hall, knocking her shoulder against the wall before tumbling to the ground.

“Shit, are you okay?” he yelled and came careening around the corner only to trip on the rug himself.  He landed next to her on his stomach and she burst into giggles.  He started laughing too and slowly they pushed themselves back into a seated position, Clarke propped against one wall and Bellamy against the opposite one.

“I should go home,” she hiccup-laughed.  “I’m drunk.”

Bellamy’s eyebrows shot up in mock-surprise.  “You’re drunk?  Since when?”

“I’ll call an Uber; where’s my phone?” she said, but made no move to stand up.  It was nice to sit like this where she had an unobstructed view of him.

“You shouldn’t call uber, that’s dangerous,” Bellamy stumbled over dangerous, his dark eyes glassy and unfocused.  Just yesterday she probably would have been annoyed with the way he said that; declarative, like she couldn’t take care of herself.  But now she heard the concern that lurked just under the surface.

She waved her hand at him.  “It’s fine.  Murphy works for Uber.”

“Exactly.   _Murphy_ works for Uber.  Come on, you can stay here.”  Bellamy stood up and offered her a hand.

“Do I get to sleep in your bed?” she asked, and something deep inside of her stirred a little.

“Not a chance.  I’ve got a couch though,” he said, and she took his hand to let him pull her up.  He pulled a little too hard and she ended up bumping into him.  His chest felt broad and strong, warm under her hands.  Bellamy threw an arm over her shoulders.  “Come on, the couch is this way,” he said, and she leaned into his chest as they walked.  Sober, she might have called it a nuzzle.  Drunk, it was just…something that happened.

Bellamy pressed his cheek against the top of her head and squeezed her shoulder, and Clarke wondered if she’d managed to fix them just a little too well.


	3. Palatine Hill

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> @reblogginhood talking about Vesta on the meta station podcast inspired a bellarke Roman Empire AU.

There were perks to being the emperor’s son.  Pike was a bit ruthless for Bellamy’s tastes, but he had been a good commander out in the forests of Gaul.  The old emperor had been a weak, corrupt man, and Bellamy had made sure his legion supported Pike when he returned to take the throne from Jaha.   **  
**

Being named his son and heir in return had been a welcome surprise, as it took a boy who had been born in the back gutters of Rome to Palatine Hill.  It also meant sitting with the emperor at the Coliseum, surrounded by slaves with fans while the gladiators battled below in the midday heat. Pike’s relentless war with Queen Nia had been a thorn in Bellamy’s side, and he had agreed to attend the games to smooth things over.  Several hours had passed and Pike seemed to have relaxed, soothed by the festivities below.

Festivities that turned Bellamy’s stomach, but he watched them with a mask of excitement nonetheless.

Pike plucked a fig from a tray and offered it to Bellamy who waved him away.  “This one is new,” Pike said, motioning to the blonde woman walking boldly out onto the sands.  “They’re calling her the Commander of Death.”

She saluted the emperor and Bellamy sat up, intrigued.  “Where is she from?” he asked.

Pike busied himself with choosing another fig.  “Just a slave,” he said, and Bellamy turned his attention back to the arena.  The gladiator’s hair was woven back into intricate braids and she drew a short, broad sword.  Her legs were all smooth muscle, and when the panther was released she danced away with an easy grace.

The match was finished quicker than Bellamy thought possible.  The gladiator circled the panther and then seemed to stumble back just as it pounced.  He thought she was gone— a disappointment— but then the panther went limp and she heaved it aside.  She’d used the beast’s weight against it, driving her sword into his belly when it tried to tear her throat out.

That was a daring play; one false move and she would have died, but she didn’t even seem to relish her victory.  Most gladiators would feed on the crowd, but the Commander of Death simply bowed and strode off her field of victory without a second glance.

“I’d like to meet her,” Bellamy said suddenly.

Pike looked up, surprised.  Bellamy didn’t usually take advantage of the perks of his station, and Pike furrowed his brow.  “I can arrange that,” he said, but his smile didn’t quite meet his eyes.

The gladiator arrived at the palace later that day, still dressed for battle but with an empty scabbard.  He was reasonably sure he could have disarmed her if she meant him harm, but his guards were probably wise not to send an armed slave into the chambers of the emperor’s son.  She stood with her shoulders straight and her chin tipped up in defiance, her blue eyes cold and hard.

Bellamy poured himself a goblet of wine and dismissed the rest of the servants.  She hadn’t spoken yet, just watched him warily as he paced around her.  “You must be wondering why I’ve summoned you,” he said, stopping just behind her left shoulder.

She didn’t look back.  “Not particularly,” she said tightly.

“It’s not for that,” he said, and her shoulders let go of some tension.  

Up close, she looked just like he remembered.  Same delicate lips, same straight nose, same blonde waves.  Her body was harder and leaner now, and he was willing to bet her hands back then hadn’t been callused from holding a sword.  He had only seen her a few times, carried past their street on a litter, but he never forgot a face.

Especially not one as beautiful as hers.

“Wine?” He held a goblet out to her and she accepted it with a suspicious look.  “It’s probably been years since you’ve had something this fine,” he continued, and she lowered the goblet from her lips without taking a sip.

“What do you mean?”

Bellamy circled around to face her and wondered if he was about to meet same fate as the panther she’d dispatched.  “I mean, it’s a long way from Palatine Hill to the arena, princess.”

Her eyes snapped to him but otherwise her face remained impassive.  “I’m not sure what you’re saying,” she replied carefully.

“Pike was a soldier; he never spent much time in Rome.  But I grew up here.  Down in the slums just past the market.”  He took a sip of wine and cocked his head to the side.  “The market that the emperor’s son’s betrothed used to frequent.  Tell me, how do you go from princess of the empire to a slave in the Coliseum?”

Clarke’s nostrils flared.  “Your betrothed dies and his father is murdered by a butcher who has no business running a province, much less an empire.  You run, and you get captured by people too stupid to realize who you really are.  So you start fighting.”

“You haven’t touched your wine,” he observed.

“I’m waiting to see what you do with me.”

Bellamy gave her a crooked smile. “I’m offering you a chance to get what you want.”

Something sparked in her eyes.  “And what’s that?”

“Justice.  Revenge.  Whatever you want to call it.”

“How?”

Bellamy stopped in front of her and looked her straight in the eye.  “I want you to help me bring down the emperor.”  


	4. Palatine Hill (II)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Just some Roman AU smut.

Bellamy tipped his head back against the tile and sighed. He waved his hand and dismissed the slaves, savoring the humidity of his private bath.  Ruling an empire was hard work, not in the least because his wife had expectations that he behave like a proper Roman noble while feasting the other major families.  Bellamy found those feasts tedious beyond all reason and the social rules governing them even more so, but Clarke had pointed out that if he wanted to avoid Pike's mistakes he would play the game.   _ Roman nobles are an easily offended lot, _ she’d told him back when she was still just a slave, armored for the arena.   _ If you want to survive, you have to flatter them.   _ She’d walked past his altar to Vesta, a smile flickering across her face at the sight of the phallic flame, and then proceeded to drill him again in how to properly ask a  _ domina _ about her new necklace without insulting her style or wealth.

At first, Pike had been amused by his heir’s new pet.  He found it amusing that a man who prided himself on his virtue had taken to calling a slave from the Coliseum to his bed and Bellamy let him believe it, but the truth was he’d never touched Clarke.  Not then, and not when he agreed to marry her after the coup to solidify his alliance with her mother’s family.  By the time Pike realized Clarke was more than just a gladiator, it was too late.

But he’d told Clarke on their wedding day he wasn’t going to touch a woman who didn’t want him, slave or free, and he’d meant that.  They were an alliance, nothing more, even if at times he found himself staring at the curve of her collarbone, wanting to taste the bead of sweat that tracked down her neck to pool there.  

Skin slapping against tile made him open his eyes.  His wife was walking into his chambers in a simple white tunic, her hair loose and flowing.  The sun streamed in behind her, showing him the outlines of her legs— still strong and muscled from her months of fighting, although she had softer, fuller curves now in her hips and breasts— through the flimsy fabric.  Tonight she’d wear a richly dyed stola, but he knew when she was alone she preferred this; simple and unadorned.

“Is anything amiss?” he asked, and hoped the bath was deep enough to obscure the way his body stirred at the sight of her.  It was damnably inconvenient, being attracted to his wife this way.

“The feast is ready,” she replied, and stopped at the steps into the water.  Her eyes were hooded, and she licked her lips.  “I came to speak with you, husband,” she said.

Bellamy kept his shoulders relaxed, one arm draped along the edge of the bath.  “Yes?” he asked mildly, and brought a cup of wine to his lips.  It was sour and potent, and he felt a little lightheaded.  It was either the wine or the heat, or maybe it was the way she was looking at him.

Clarke stepped down into the bath without removing her tunic.  “You said you wouldn’t touch me unless I wanted you to,” she said, and the water lapped at her knees.  The fabric around her legs clung to her skin, and Bellamy swallowed thickly.  “I was wondering if that still held true.”

“Of course,” he said, bringing his eyes to her face.  She moved a step deeper and the water reached her hips.  He could see a shadow of the dark golden hair between her legs and he wanted to feel her curls brushing against his palm while his fingers teased her, but he kept his face impassive.

“And what if I want you to?” she asked, her voice dropping as she reached the bottom of the bath.  The water came just to the undersides of her breasts, tantalizingly close.  He was fully hard now, and it took tremendous effort to remain lounging where he was and not crush her to him and kiss her senseless.

“If it’s your choice, of your own free will...yes.  I'll touch you however you like,” he said, and she moved forward with a wash of water that soaked the rest of her shift.  Her breasts were full, her nipples a dusky pink beneath the translucent cotton, and he stood when she reached him.

Kissing her was like waking up from a deep sleep.  He wrapped his hands around her shoulders, holding her in place while their lips moved in concert, and when she reached down to circle her hand around his cock he groaned.  He dropped his head to her shoulder and mouthed at her skin there, just like he’d imagined on nights when he would stroke himself just like she was doing now, wishing it were her.  

In one movement he lifted her into his arms and set her on the edge of the bath.  He rucked her shift up past her knees and kissed her throat, her clavicle, and then down to the valley between her breasts.  The fabric was rough as he swirled his tongue around her nipple, and her hands came to tangle themselves in his hair.  She gasped when his teeth scraped across her breast, and she moaned when he moved to do the same to her other breast.  Water splashed as he lowered himself down and urged her backwards, splaying her body across the tile floor.

He nuzzled at her inner thigh, her scent filling his senses.  He was the emperor of all Rome and yet he had never smelled a finer perfume than this, so he ran his hand up to her breast and palmed it as his tongue found her folds.  Her cries echoed around the room as he feathered his tongue from her center to her bud, drawing her slickness into his mouth with wet, messy licks.  Clarke’s leg rose from the bath to rest on his bare shoulder, her heel digging into his spine as she urged him on.

She shattered on his tongue, her thighs trembling and her back bowing, and it felt like the greatest triumph he’d ever achieved.  He straightened and she pushed herself up on her elbows, her eyes glassy and dazed and her lips pink and swollen.  He kissed her, her taste still on his tongue, and she twined her body around him, her muscles liquid under his touch.

Each of them had seen countless battles.  They’d killed in the arena, in war, and to free their people from an unjust tyrant.  He had been a plebe in the slums, a soldier, and now he was ruler of the known world.  She’d been a princess, a slave and now a queen.  But here, in a richly appointed room on top of the Palatine Hill, they were simply husband and wife.

  
  
  
  



	5. Beards

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> An anon asked for Bellarke and Bellamy's beard with some extra fluffy goodness. So let's just pretend the Fury Roadtrip of 406 had an overnight.

Bellamy tossed another log on the fire and sat down on the rock next to Clarke.  She was busy sharpening sticks for them to roast whatever Roan managed to catch for dinner, so he started cleaning his gun just for something to do.  He didn’t know hen Roan would be back, and it was that or sit around and think about how hungry he was.  (Or go join Roan on the hunt, but he really didn’t feel like that.  Twelve hours in the rover with that man was more than enough). **  
**

He was halfway through the process when he felt Clarke’s eyes on him and looked up.  She was smiling slightly, her eyes dancing.  “What?” he asked, probably more defensively than was strictly necessary.  But he’d spent the whole day with Roan needling him and he really didn’t need it from Clarke too.

But Clarke’s grin just got wider.  “What is this?” she asked, and reached over and tapped his chin.

“What?” he asked again, and then ran his hand along his jaw.  Some stubble rasped against his palm and he sighed.  “Just haven’t had time to shave lately.  The world’s ending, you know,” he grumbled.

Clarke wiggled her eyebrows.  “The world’s ending, you know,” she echoed.  It felt good to see her like this; loose and goofing around.  

“Roan has a beard; you don’t make fun of him,” he continued, with his head down so she wouldn’t see him fighting his own smile. If being grumpy made her smile, he’d be the world’s biggest grump until everything went up in flames.

“That’s because Roan has a terrible sense of humor,” Clarke deadpanned, and Bellamy cracked.  He starting laughing and so did she, and when Roan stomped back into the clearing with four rabbits, he found them collapsed with laughter.


	6. Not their time

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> @mylittledarlin asked for a more romantic end of 406.

“Clarke, if I don’t see you again,” Bellamy starts, and Clarke cuts him off.  She knows that look on his face— she’d made it herself more than once.  It’s a face for goodbyes, for last words that you’re desperate to say because the worst has come to pass.  It’s a face she’s not ready to see, not on him.  They’ll beat this; she’s sure of it. **  
**

“You will,” she says, gentle and firm at once.  There’s more she wants to say but it’s stuck in her throat, because _I’ll come back to you_ sounds like a promise she can’t quite make.  She has hope, not certainty; if he says goodbye to her now it’s one less pillar of hope to hold her up and she’s already wobbling as it is.

A spasm crosses his face and he watches her, deliberating.  “But if I don’t,” he continues, and she relents.  “I need you to know…how I feel.”

“I know,” she says, because she _does_.  It happened so slowly she couldn’t put her finger on when, but she knows that he loves her just as much as she loves him.  They don’t need to say it, she’d thought, but maybe he does.

Bellamy shakes his head.  “You don’t,” he says, and the resignation in his voice cuts deep.  He reaches out and touches her cheek, a soft brush of fingers that sends her back to the only other time he’d touched her like that.  He’d appeared out of the gloom like a dream and she wasn’t sure he was real until he touched her, sending relief flooding through her veins.  His hand drops, curled into a fist.  His eyes are so dark they’re almost black, glossed with something like tears.  “I love you,” he rasps.  “And I know it’s not— I know it’s not the same for you.  I just…needed you to know.  In case.”  

He blinks and a tear tracks down his cheek.  Clarke doesn’t think, just reaches out and brushes it away with her thumb.  He sighs, a deep, shuddering thing, and presses his forehead to hers.  “I love you too,” she whispers.  She’d said it before for herself but now she says it for him, even though it’s not the end.  She won’t let it be.

Behind them, Roan hops down from the rover and they tear themselves apart, because this isn’t their time.  

Not yet.


	7. Best of Craigslist

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> An anon asked for Clarke searching on craigslist for a husband and finding Bellamy.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Special thanks to chash and @reblogginhood for helping with the details.

_MARRY MY BEST FRIEND HE’S GREAT!!!_ Clarke set down her beer and snorted.  A friday night spent with a six pack and _Best of Craigslist_ wasn’t exactly living her best life, but it was all she felt like doing after the week she’d had at the hospital.  She clicked the link and moved her laptop to balance more comfortably on her knees. **  
**

_MY BEST FRIEND IS AWESOME AND DESERVES TO BE MARRIED!!_

_He’s crazy smart and kind of a grump but that’s only because he loves his friends and we’re a bunch of idiots.  He’s pan and really hot, but he’d kill me if I posted a picture of his face so here’s a picture of his chest instead:_

Clarke tipped her head to the side and considered the proffered torso while she took a long swig of beer.  He was wearing a grey Arkadia University t-shirt that looked soft and worn, and he did have nice, broad shoulders that stretched the shirt pleasantly.  It looked like he had one arm around someone— a male someone— and the other one held a bottle of the same beer she was drinking.  

She scrolled on.

_I’m getting married to my fiance soon and I figured we should just make it a double wedding because he deserves to be as happy as we are and he hasn’t had a boyfriend or girlfriend in too long.  All you gotta do is show up and marry my best friend!!!_

_You:_

_Guy, gal, or nonbinary pal_

_Patience with long, rambling historical anecdotes_

_Sense of humor because you’re really underestimating how many long, rambling historical anecdotes you’re gonna hear_

_I cannot emphasize enough how many long, rambling historical anecdotes he has_

_He hates going out so either you should be a shut-in too or maybe you should be the sort of person who can get him out of the house (I think the first one but my fiance says the second one is best idk use your best judgment there)_

_Burning hatred of the patriarchy_

 

_Him:_

_Hot as fuck_

_Grumpy as fuck but it’s really charming I swear_

_Nerdy as fuck_

_Hates the patriarchy and loves history_

_My fiance says I’m doing a terrible job of explaining him so maybe you should meet him.  The wedding is June 17, 2017.  Serious replies only._

Clarke sat up a little straighter.  Monty was getting married that weekend and the tone of the post— half enthusiastic and half the human embodiment of a Denny’s tumblr post— reminded her a little of Monty’s fiance when he was drunk.  She’d only met Miller a couple of times thanks to being a resident with terrible hours, but the longer she stared at the picture, the more that looked like Miller’s arm next to Best Friend’s torso.  She could just see the beginnings of a tattoo under his short sleeve, and if she squinted it looked like it might be the Tennyson quote Miller had inked there.

She picked up her phone and tapped out a new message to Monty.

_Clarke Griffin_

_9:49pm_

_Did Miller get drunk and post a Craigslist ad for someone to marry his best friend?_

_Monty Green_

_9:49pm_

_I told him it was a bad idea_

_Monty Green_

_9:49pm_

_But yeah, that was him_

_Monty Green_

_9:49pm_

_Wait how did you figure it out?_

_Clarke Griffin_

_9:50pm_

_Combo of wedding date and tattoo.  But he sold the shit out of it.  Who’s the friend?_

_Monty Green_

_9:50pm_

_Bellamy.  Didn’t you meet him at the engagement party?_

_Clarke Griffin_

_9:50pm_

_You mean the engagement party I had to leave after 20 minutes because of work?_

_Monty Green_

_9:51pm_

_Oh yeah, forgot about that._

_Monty Green_

_9:51pm_

_Nate says you’re either the perfect candidate for the double wedding or the worst possible option._

_Monty Green_

_9:51pm_

_I think there’s a middle ground somewhere, but he’s pretty insistent that you guys would be all or nothing._

_Monty Green_

_9:51pm_

_I also assume you’re not actually interested in marrying him, just figuring out if my future husband is as weird as that post sounded._

 

Clarke chuckled to herself and assured Monty that she didn’t think any less of Miller, but over the next few weeks she found herself thinking about that post even more than she thought about the catbus craiglist post, which was quite a lot.  She did some facebook and instagram stalking and Miller was right— Bellamy was hot, and there was a look of exasperation and fondness on his face in most of the photos that she found kind of endearing.  Plus, Miller was usually pretty laconic (except when he was drinking), and she figured he wouldn’t be that devoted to just _anybody_.

So by the time the rehearsal rolled around Clarke already had a full-blown crush.  Bellamy was already there when she arrived, and she fought back a blush when Monty introduced them.  She wasn’t sure he knew about the craigslist post and didn’t want to blow Miller’s cover, so she pretended she hadn’t been thinking about him for the past month and instead played it like it was the first time they were meeting.

Which, it was.  But it didn’t feel like it.

To make things better-slash-worse, Bellamy was just as gruffly charming as Miller’s post had claimed.  She ended up at his table at the rehearsal dinner and listened to no less than four rambling historical anecdotes, each one more endearing than the last.  She hoped everyone took the smile on her face as Bellamy walked her down the aisle during the wedding itself as excitement for her best friend and not the weirdest crush of her life.

It took three slow songs, but Clarke finally plucked up the courage to ask Bellamy to dance.  It wasn’t like her to falter at the whole self-confidence thing, but she felt vaguely dishonest pretending like he was a stranger, even though he was.  Except less than a minute into the song, Bellamy cleared his throat.  “Miller said you were the only serious reply to his craigslist ad for me,” he said, and Clarke snapped her eyes to him.  He looked _nervous_ , which was the cutest fucking thing she’d ever seen.  “I assume he was fucking with me about the serious part, though.”

“To be fair, I never actually said I was interested,” Clarke teased.  “I just wanted to know who it was.”

Bellamy smiled and her heart did a stupid little flip-flop.  “Miller gets...affectionate when he’s drunk.”

“Well, getting married to a stranger I found on craigslist is a little bit much for me, but...I could do a first date,” she offered, and bit her lower lip.

Bellamy shifted his hand on her lower back to draw her imperceptibly closer.  “This doesn’t count?”

“A wedding we’re both at is a coincidence, not a date.”

“Right,” he said, his dark eyes dancing.  “But next weekend, if I took you out to dinner…?”

“That would count,” she said, and a pack of butterflies exploded in her chest.  Bellamy grinned again and tugged her closer, and this time she let her cheek rest on his shoulder.  He smelled good, like cologne and fresh laundry.

The internet really was a beautiful thing.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (Just google catbus craiglist because it is my favorite craigslist post of all time. It has been nine years and I still laugh at HEY CAN YOU TURN THIS INTO A CATBUS? SO THEY DID.)


	8. Showers

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> An anon asked for bellarke smut in Becca's shower and/or bed from 407.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Let’s just pretend Bellamy decided to go to Science Island and the whole Emori-Bayless stuff doesn’t happen that first night.

Showers on the Ark were loud, cold affairs.  Water screeched through pipes and blasted down on you with only a cursory bit of heating to put them on just the other side of freezing.  On the ground you generally made do with splashing river water on yourself with a bit of rough soap and counted yourself lucky, so Clarke stood in Becca’s shower as it sent up veils of steam and let the water rain down on her gently, enveloping her in heat, for longer than was strictly necessary.  It was luxurious beyond anything she’d imagined. **  
**

“Roan wants to know when he can take the boat back to—” Bellamy’s rough baritone interrupted her hazy thoughts and she spun to find him frozen mid-step, his jaw ajar. “Shit, sorry,” he mumbled and turned away.  Through the fogged glass she could just make out the back of his neck turning red and Clarke bit a smile.

“Bellamy,” she said, and he automatically glanced back at the sound of her voice and then looked away just as quickly.  “It’s okay.”

“I didn’t realize you were still— I’ll come back later,” he stammered.

“Wait.”  The word was out before she could stop it and his shoulders tensed.  She knew what he’d wanted to say on the beach, knew what she wanted to say to him, but words weren’t her strong suit. “Come join me,” she said before she could chicken out.  She didn’t know how to tell him, but she could show him.  Because he was right— time might be running out for them.

Slowly, Bellamy looked over his shoulder, his gaze raking up and down her body.  He licked his lips and turned around, eyebrows raised in a question.  He was barefoot, which she found impossibly adorable, and this time she didn’t fight the smile that spread across her face.

And identical one spread across his like the sun coming out from behind clouds.  He crossed the bathroom in three strides and threw open the glass door, letting out a burst of steam.  He didn’t even bother to take off his clothes, just charged into the water and kissed her.  Clarke kissed him back and felt his curls soften under the water, her fingers tangled in his hair as their mouths explored each other.  She clawed at his shirt and he helped her peel it off his body, hitting the tile floor with a wet _plop_.  

They were both frantic yet deliberate, eager yet reverent.  Time sped up and slowed down, and when he pushed her against the tile to slip his fingers between her folds Clarke felt the rest of the world fade away.  There was nothing left but dark brown eyes watching her hungrily and soft lips kissing her throat.  She came with a quiet cry and then Bellamy lifted her into his arms, settling her down on his cock and pinning her to the wall with his weight.  Clarke held his face as they moved together, needing to memorize his every gasp, learn each freckle on his face, catalogue the exact shade of his eyes.  And he watched her just as closely, only breaking to kiss her with a need that stole her breath.

They both giggled a little shyly when they were done, but Clarke wouldn’t let awkward nerves steal this night from her.  She helped Bellamy rinse off and then they wrapped themselves in thick, soft towels.  Bellamy rather sheepishly hung up his soaked clothing and then she took him by the hand and led him to the wide bed that had caught her eye earlier.  She went to climb in but Bellamy hesitated with a strange look on his face.

“Whatever it is, it can wait,” she said soothingly.

Bellamy snorted.  “You’re supposed to take those pillows off,” he said, motioning to the tiny pillow behind the small of her back and the larger, faux fur one behind her shoulders.  “They’re just decorative.”

Clarke stared at him for a second and then burst into a giggle.  Pillows were a luxury on the ark and the ones they had were thin, flat things that did almost nothing.  She barely even saw the point of them, and she had been wondering how on earth people before the apocalypse managed to sleep with so many pillows they were practically sitting.  The thought of them being just decorative had been so foreign to her she hadn’t even considered it.  “Oh thank god,” she laughed, and Bellamy shook his head fondly as he helped her throw them to the floor.  The lights automatically dimmed— except for the hearth across the room, which cast everything in a warm, golden glow— and Bellamy joined her beneath the covers.  She settled against him with her ear over his heart and he pressed a kiss to the crown of her head.  She waited for him to fall asleep and then leaned up to kiss his forehead.  “I love you,” she whispered, and maybe it was her imagination, but it seemed like he smiled back.


	9. Nine Days Left (Raven/Roan)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> @everlarkanxiety asked for ice mechanic smut post 408. Let's just pretend the pool was shielded from the black rain.

Somehow, the ice king managed to make the cavernous lab feel small.  While they waited for the transfusion to take he paced around the lab, peering intently at screens and at one point reaching over Raven’s shoulder to fiddle with a dial.  She slapped his hand away without looking and he huffed out a quiet laugh.  He’d disappeared for a few hours then, reappearing shirtless with his long hair dripping as if he’d taken a shower.  Raven briefly wondered if he found the technology required to start a shower in Becca’s mansion intimidating, but then her brain got distracted by thinking of water running over that smoothly chiseled chest and stomach.  She scowled at him because she couldn’t afford to be distracted right now.  He stopped frowning at a monitor to look at her.  “Is there a problem?” **  
**

“Don’t you ever wear a shirt?” she snapped.

He made that sound again, more like an exhale than a real laugh.  “Am I interfering with your work?”

Raven’s neck felt hot and she looked back down at her calculations. “Nevermind,” she muttered, and let him continue to prowl around the lab, looking oddly at home despite his grounder clothing.

**

Raven walked out of the mansion and stared off the veranda towards the water.  They were leaving tomorrow morning to inspect the bunker Jaha had found because that was humanity’s last hope.  

Literally.

There was nothing else left.  

Everything she’d done, everything she’d tried, and they were reduced to hoping that a cult’s hole in the ground would save them.

A splash of water drew her attention.  Roan was swimming in the pool, knifing through the water with even, smooth strokes.  He was shirtless again, this time giving her a good view of his back muscles working as he swam.  He came to the edge of the pool and looked up at her, the underwater lights throwing his face into sharp relief.

“You did everything you could,” he said in that low growl.

Raven chewed on the inside of her cheek.  “We might die in less than two weeks anyway,” she said.

Roan shrugged.  “So come for a swim.  Probably the last time you’ll get to.”

“It’d be the first time,” she corrected.  “Didn’t exactly have pools in space.”

“All the more reason to join me.”

Raven looked down at him and considered.  She didn’t know him well, aside from his habit for wandering around shirtless and the fact that Clarke seemed to like him.  He was efficient and cold, but it seemed to her like might be a mask.  Still waters run deep, and all that.  “I might drown,” she said, but she was already crouching down to untie her boots.

“I’ll make sure you don’t,” he said with a flicker of a grin.  

Raven stripped down to her bra and underwear and stepped into the water.  She was a little unsteady without her brace and Roan came to meet her on the steps, holding his hand out with his face impassive.  She took his hand and let him help her down.

“You’ve seen battle,” he observed.

“It was Murphy,” she admitted.  The water lapped around her calves and then her hips, warm and soothing.

Roan nodded.  “Want me to kill him?”

“Aren’t we all dying soon anyway?” she said with a laugh.

Roan shrugged again.  “If we’re all dying and him dying first would make you happy, I could provide that for you.  You’ve worked hard to save my people; it would be an honor to repay the favor.”

“I’ll keep that in mind,” she replied wryly.

The water reached her waist and Raven felt the ever-present ache in her hip lessen.  It wasn’t quite like zero-g, but there was an ease to movement in water that made her feel at home.  Roan kept his hand curled around hers and led her towards the deeper end of the pool until her toes left the ground and the water reached her chin.  He coaxed her onto her back and held his hand on her lower back until she was floating, weightless under the stars.

Raven floated and Roan stayed nearby, just out of her line of vision.  There wasn’t a cloud in the sky.  Raven had stopped looking at the stars on the ground— there was too much going on, but now, with the end in sight, she wished she’d done this more often. Eventually she dropped her feet back down and flipped into an awkward paddle that propelled her to the edge of the pool.  Roan followed and she found a shallow bench cut into the side, so they sat and rested their heads against the tile.

“Are you scared?” she asked without looking at him.

Roan was quiet for a long time.  “If _praimfaya_ comes, it comes.  But the bunker might work.”

“Think you can live underground for five years?”

“If that’s what it takes to survive, then yes.  You?”

Raven kept her eyes on the stars.  She didn’t have much time to see them anymore, one way or another.  “If that’s what it takes to survive,” she echoed and glanced over at him.  He was watching her, his blue eyes unreadable.

Raven weighed her options,  She had ten— no, nine— days left.  The bunker might work, but if it didn’t…this might be her last night of peace.  She would work as hard as she could to get the bunker ready once she was there, but for tonight, there was nothing left to do.

She might as well enjoy herself.

So she tipped her head and closed the distance between them.  Roan took her meaning and kissed her, gentler than she was expecting.  His beard was softer than she thought too, and his tongue found hers in a way that made her toes curl.  Roan scooped her into his arms and resettled her onto his lap and they slowly peeled their remaining clothes off.

Raven didn’t expect tenderness from the ice king, but he touched her with such care it almost brought tears to her eyes.  His own eyes were shaded with something like fear too, and Raven wondered if even kings craved kindness.  She liked the feel of him inside of her and she liked how he looked at her with something like wonder.  She liked his hands on her hips and she liked how they moved together in the water.  

Death was ticking closer, but Raven had never felt more alive.


	10. Nothing Left To Lose

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Post 408 speculation.

Bellamy’s arm was asleep. **  
**

That was the first thing he realized upon waking up— his arm was an uncomfortable combination of numb and prickly, and he shifted on his mattress to try and regain circulation, only for the source of the numbness to mumble sleepily.

Bree.

She felt familiar and strange all at once.  He’d slept with her before, back when he was pretending not to give a damn about anything or anybody. He knew how she looked when she was exhausted and happy from a good fuck, how she looked when the sun rose and she’d blink against the light before burrowing back under the covers.  He recognized the scent of her hair and the fit of her body against his.  But it still felt wrong, somehow, like she was a complete stranger instead of someone he’d known for almost a year.  His stomach curdled, and not just because of the moonshine.

There was a hasty knock on his door and it swung open before he could do much more than lift his head.  “Raven wants us to go to the bunker straight away,” Clarke announced, but then her eyes widened as she took in the tableau before her.

Bree snorted and sat up, reaching for her clothes without bothering to hold up the sheet.  “Shoulda guessed,” she muttered.  Bellamy smoothed his hand up Bree’s spine and Clarke’s eyes flashed with something unreadable.  Bree pulled her shirt on and fluffed her hair out of the collar all while Clarke watched, arms crossed and nostrils flared.

The guilt sitting in Bellamy’s stomach bubbled into annoyance.

Bree finished dressing and Bellamy pulled his boxers on under the sheets before standing and walking her to the door.  Bree smiled brightly, unconcerned with the rapidly thickening tension in the room.  He liked that about her— no matter what, she didn’t let shit get her down.  She was light and free and unconcerned in a way Bellamy had never quite managed, not even with Gina.  “Jasper’s throwing another party; see you there?” she asked with a quirk of her eyebrow.  

Three feet away, Clarke snorted.

Bellamy pointedly ignored her.  “Maybe,” he said with a grin, and then leaned down to give her a kiss that lingered just a beat too long.  Bree tangled their fingers together before she walked away, her smirk full of promise.  

“You done?” Clarke snapped.

“You were the one who barged in unannounced,” he retorted.  Bellamy stepped into his pants and avoided eye contact.  The annoyance was boiling over into anger, and the clench of Clarke’s jaw told him he wasn’t alone in that feeling.

“Anyway, the bunker,” Clarke said with an air of getting back to business.

“What bunker?” he interrupted.

“The bunker Jaha and Kane found.”

“They found a bunker?”

Clarke’s brow creased with confusion.  “You didn’t know?  Kane radioed about it last night— we left Becca’s lab right away so we could check it out.”

“So what about nightblood?  That was a bust?”

“Of course it— you honestly don’t know?  My mom told Kane everything.  I thought he’d told you.”

Bellamy shrugged and decided not to bother finding his shirt just yet.  “I was busy.”

“Busy,” Clarke said, and her face tightened.  “You were _busy_.”

He made himself chuckle.  “You saw it for yourself,” he said and crossed his arms.  “So now we’re back to bunkers again, are we?  Great.  Let’s get right on that,” he finished sarcastically, because he was sick of this shit.  He was sick of saving the world, sick of carrying burdens that weren’t his, sick of the anger that got thrown his way whenever he let his guard down.  He was sick of having his sister hate him and he was sick of losing people.  He was sick of losing, period, and he couldn’t bring himself to pin his hopes on yet another plan that was doomed to fail.

He was done.

“What the fuck has gotten into you?” Clarke asked, and the confusion in her eyes made his stomach twist.

“Nothing,” he drawled.  “Just enjoying myself for once.”

“We don’t have the time for this,” Clarke spat.  “Raven wants to get going.”

“So go,” he said, because pushing her away would make all of this so much easier.

“You’re staying?” Clarke said, disbelief leaking into her tone.  “With her.”

“Maybe,” he said with a shrug.  Clarke made a disgusted noise and he paced towards her.  “And you know why?  Because Bree doesn’t ask shit of me, Clarke.  She doesn’t need me to save her, or the world, or anything else.  She just wants me to fuck her.  That’s it.  So yeah, I’m staying,” he growled.  He towered over her but Clarke just glared right back, stern and unflinching.

The last time they’d fought like this, Clarke had crumpled.  This time, she just looked annoyed.  “Then stay,” she said flatly, and turned on her heel.

He felt a surge of vicious triumph that deflated the second she slammed his door.  Bellamy sank back down onto his bed and rested his head in his hands, staring at his bare feet.  The music from Jasper’s party thumped faintly in the distance.  He just had to get up and go— they had only days left, after all.  He could find more moonshine, or Niylah’s tea.  He could find Bree and fuck her again, because that had been the truth— Bree never asked him for anything more than that.

 _But that isn’t what you want,_ a tiny voice in his head whispered.   _It isn’t who you want, either._  That was pointless, though— he’d tried, and Clarke had shut him down before he even managed to find the words.  There wasn’t enough time left to fix things, with her or with O.  

Bellamy blinked back tears and his door opened slowly.  He recognized Clarke’s footsteps without looking up, and she crouched down in front of him and took his hands in hers, forcing him to look at her.  “Don’t give up yet,” she said, her blue eyes clear and reassuring.  “The bunker— this can work.  We can beat this, Bellamy.”

“And what if we can’t?” he asked, his voice cracking with the strain.  “What if it’s another dead end?”

“Then we find another way,” she said fiercely.  “I’m not giving up.  Not on this, and not on you.”

“You’re a sucker for lost causes, aren’t you?” he said ruefully.

Clarke smiled softly.  “You’re not lost,” she said, and he almost believed her.  He wanted to, at any rate.  Clarke dropped his hands and stood.  “Come on, Raven’s waiting,” she said, and Bellamy nodded.  He’d go with her because in the end, he didn’t have anything else to lose.

Just her.


	11. Decisions

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> An anon asked for bellarke and morning sickness.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Abortion is discussed, fyi.

Bellamy emerged from the study with a concerned look on his face as soon as Clarke opened the door.  “What’s wrong?” he asked. **  
**

Clarke tossed her keys on the table near the door and kicked off her shoes.  “It’s back,” she sighed, and stumbled forward for a hug.

“I thought you said it was food poisoning?” Bellamy asked, rubbing slow circles on her back.

Clarke had spent the previous day in a haze of nausea thanks to…well, she wasn’t exactly sure.  She and Bellamy hadn’t gone out to dinner and aside from a banana she had the other morning they’d eaten basically the same things and he was fine.  But barely two hours after arriving at the gallery she’d had to tell Indra she was taking a personal day because just the faintest whiff of the Italian restaurant down the street had turned her stomach.  She couldn’t keep anything down, it would appear, and what’s more, she was _exhausted_.  “It must be something else,” Clarke said against his chest.  “Caught a bug, or something.”

“I’ll pick you up some crackers on my way home from class; go take a nap,” Bellamy instructed.  Clarke let him bundle her into bed and even submitted to him fussing over her every twenty minutes until he had to go teach his seminar.  He brought her a fresh glass of water and toast and made sure her laptop charger was plugged in.  She had been dry heaving all day but the toast seemed to help a little, and Bellamy kissed her forehead tenderly before he left.

Clarke drifted to sleep somewhere around her fourth straight episode of _House Hunters_ and only woke up when Bellamy cracked open the door to their bedroom.  Her stomach was still roiling but she hadn’t vomited in a few hours at least. “How are you feeling?” he asked, and Clarke shrugged and pushed herself up to let him climb into bed with her.

“Okay,” she said, her voice cracking with disuse.  She settled herself back down with her head on his lap, his back propped against the headboard.  That had been their first purchase after they moved in together five years ago.  Bellamy had found it, battered and painted a shabby white, in a thrift store and Clarke had spent every weekend for a month stripping it down and refinishing it until it gleamed a soft honey-brown color.

Bellamy threaded his fingers through her hair just behind her ear and started to gently work out the tangles.  “I got you crackers,” he said, and nodded towards the bag on the floor.  “But I was picking up some other stuff, and I realized you were probably out of tampons so I went to grab them and…you haven’t needed them this week, have you?”

Clarke twisted so she could look up at him.  “What’s the date?” she asked, doing some quick mental math.  Bellamy told her and she frowned.  “You’re right, I’m…” her eyes widened as gears clicked into place.  “I’m late,” she said.

She watched him and he watched her, considering.  They weren’t married, but Clarke knew he was it for her and she was it for him.  She’d even been thinking recently about asking if he wanted to go down to the courthouse and fill out the paperwork so she could say _you’re mine and I’m yours, forever_.  They’d talked about kids too and lately it had been _when_ not _if_ they had them, but that was different from _now_.

“I bought a pregnancy test,” he said carefully.  

“And if I am?”

Bellamy kept stroking her hair, his eyes dark.  “Then you are.  Do you— have you— “ he stuttered and then smiled sadly.  “Sorry, this is a lot.  If you are, do you know what you’d want to do?”

Clarke nuzzled his hand.  “I don’t know.  Three years ago I think I would have wanted an abortion, but now…I don’t know.  We’ve both got decent jobs, we’re more or less grown ups.  What do you think?”

“I think it’s your call,” he said.

“But I’m asking your opinion.”

Bellamy’s hand stilled for a second and then started again, his nails scratching soothingly at her scalp.  “I think…we could.”

“Have a baby?” she asked, and the thought was utterly terrifying, but then a slow smile spread across his face and she knew.

They were doing this.


	12. Five Stories High

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> An anon asked for domestic bellarke fluff on a balcony. It's actually a fire escape, but w/e.

Clarke stumbled into the kitchen, bleary-eyed, and found the coffee maker bubbling and hissing as it finished brewing.  Bellamy was nowhere in sight, but a cool breeze caressed her bare legs and Clarke allowed herself a private smile. **  
**

In the six months she’d been living in Bellamy’s spare bedroom, she’d learned that if he was out on the fire escape he was trying to think something through— whether it was a problem with his latest chapter of his dissertation or a fight with Octavia, being on the fire escape meant he was sinking deeper and deeper into his own thoughts.

Less than a year ago, she didn’t even _like_ Bellamy.  He was just Octavia’s frustrating older brother, prone to picking fights with her whenever they accidentally crossed paths.  But then Clarke broke up with Lexa.  That was bad enough in and of itself, but she was also in one of her every-few-years clashes with her mother, which meant Clarke didn’t have anywhere near enough money for a security deposit, which meant she had to move out of Lexa’s place immediately _and_ she was trolling craigslist for a place that wasn’t also a murder-dungeon _but_ the only things in her price range screamed murder-dungeon.

Clarke had been bitching about it to Octavia while Bellamy grumpily helped Lincoln set the table. Lincoln had just suggested Clarke check out Luna’s co-op— _you have to commit to eating vegan and they don’t feel it’s ethical to pay a corporation for internet access so you probably want to make sure your phone’s data plan is unlimited_ — when Bellamy sighed.  “Miller’s moving in with Monty next month.  I’ll need a roommate but if it’s you I won’t ask for a security deposit,” he announced, and Octavia and Lincoln shared a look.

“You guys will kill each other in under a month,” Octavia pointed out.

But Clarke was desperate and stubborn so she set her jaw and made eye contact with Bellamy.  “Deal,” she said, and and Bellamy met her gaze with an equally determined look.

The first month had been rough— Clarke didn’t know it was possible to fight about _literally every single thing_ — but somehow they managed and six weeks in, everything clicked.  Bellamy made her extra coffee in the mornings and Clarke covered him with a blanket when he inevitably fell asleep on the couch at night.  They were a good team, they found, and almost frighteningly in sync.

Clarke poured two cups of coffee and brought them over to the window sill.  She passed one out to him without a word and then snatched a blanket from the couch, because mornings in May were still brisk enough to raise goosebumps on her arms.  She ducked out the window and Bellamy shifted to make space against the rough brick wall.  “Everything okay?” she asked, her voice cracking with the remnants of sleep.

Bellamy shrugged and lifted the mug to his lips.  Clarke tossed the other end of the blanket over his lap.  The sky was still a soft orange-pink, the streets quiet except for the occasional delivery truck rumbling about its rounds.  “Just thinking about some shit,” he said finally.  

Clarke stole a look at him out of the corner of her eye.  His skin seemed to glow in the early morning light and her heart felt soft and warm in a way she had thought it would never feel again.  Her shoulder was pressed against his arm and her leg against his hip, and not for the first time she felt the urge to curl closer, breathe him in and skim her lips over the shell of his ear.  She slurped her coffee to stop herself, and Bellamy glanced at her.  His eyes were almost sad, but he smiled at her nonetheless.

“You know, I kind of thought Octavia was right— I didn’t think we’d last as roommates,” he said, the morning breeze ruffling his curls.

“So why offer?”  Back then, Clarke had felt like she was drowning.  She was flailing, throwing her hands out in any direction, hoping something, someone, would stop her fall.

And Bellamy had reached out and caught her hand just at the last minute.

But it was more than that— he made her feel safe.  She could put herself back together with him and he wouldn’t judge, wouldn’t make her feel weak and stupid when she fucked up.  He was just…there, no matter what.  Steady and unexpectedly warm, just like now.

“You needed a place to live,” he said simply, and Clarke wondered if she would ever reach his level of innate warmth.  He hid it well, to be sure, and his anger— real anger, not just annoyance that she’d left her shoes right in front of the door _again_ — could be cold and harsh.  But when Bellamy saw someone in need, he never hesitated.  She loved that about him.

She loved _him_ , as long as she was admitting things to herself.

“Well, thanks,” she said, and on an impulse she rested her cheek against his shoulder.  His lips twitched like he was smiling and he brought his arm up and around her.  Clarke snuggled closer, because the part of her that craved him in whatever way he’d let her in was growing stronger by the second.

Three stories above them, a pigeon cooed from the roof.  Four stories below, Niylah unlocked the gate to her store and it rattled as it rose.  But there, on the fire escape underneath a blanket Bellamy’s mom had made decades ago, they drank their coffee and sat in companionable silence.


	13. Five Stories High (II)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> An anon asked for bellarke and first time plus lazy sunday morning sex. It doesn't quite tick all the boxes, but it's close. 
> 
> Also a Bellamy POV from the Five Stories High 'verse.

A soft noise woke him.  Bellamy’s eyes fluttered open and he realized Clarke had drifted away from him during the night, out from the circle of his arms and over to the spare pillow.  He reached out and towed her back against his chest, needing the connection to remind himself that this was, in fact, real. **  
**

It still felt like a dream.

Last night, they were just roommates watching a movie.  Sitting maybe a little closer on the couch than one would expect from just roommates, but just roommates nonetheless.  He made a joke— a bad one— and Clarke had looked at him and laughed.  But then their laughter died and her eyes grew dark, and then she kissed him and the world seemed to stop.

He’d wanted it for so long, but he didn’t know if she was ready.  Or if she’d ever be ready, or if she’d ever even want him.  So he’d held himself back from making a move, even when she crawled out onto the fire escape with him to drink their coffee under a blanket, cocooned in each other’s warmth.

But there she was, kissing him and showing no signs of stopping.  They’d stumbled to his room, unable to tear themselves apart for much longer than the time it took to shed their clothes.  By the time he was inside her he was almost trembling with the weight of it all happening so quickly, but the look in Clarke’s eyes— soft and fond and _happy_ — wrapped itself around his heart and eased the fears he kept buried there.  He curled his fingers into her hips and when that wasn’t enough he sat up to kiss her as she rode him, their lips and tongues meeting a little sloppily while they found their rhythm.

Clarke made that noise again and twisted around to face him.  A drowsy smile spread across her face, brighter than the morning sun peeking in around his curtains.  He kissed her, not caring that their breath was stale, but it was hard to kiss and smile at the same time, they found.  Clarke nuzzled into his neck and sighed happily.  “Last night really happened, didn’t it?” she asked.

Bellamy tucked his nose into her hair.  “It did,” he said, and tightened his arms around her just slightly.

He was never letting her go.


	14. sometimes, forever is just a second

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> for chash, bgonemydear, and reblogginhood.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Title is paraphrased from Alice in Wonderland.

Bellamy still feels like he’s floating.  And not the terrifying, stomach-churning floating of his nightmares where he’s the one shoved out the airlock instead of his mother.  This is a pleasant, liquid feeling; like being wrapped in a soft, fuzzy cloud.

He shifts and something warm against him moves.  Blonde hair is splayed out across his pillow and smooth, pale skin is pressed against his chest.  She turns and beams at him, and for a moment, Bellamy can only stare.

It’s Clarke, naked and smiling in his bed.  At first he can’t remember her arrival the night before, but then his brain shutters through a slideshow of her dancing against him, her hips grinding against his leg, their fingers twined together.  He remembers her smile when Niylah poured them both another cup of the Jobi tea, and he remembers her lips finding his in a dark corridor.  He remembers more and more, and each flash— the curve of her hip, the feel of her hair sweeping across his skin— deepens his smile.  “Morning, Bell,” she says, and he realizes she’s never called him that before.  It sits awkwardly, but he brushes it away like a fly in the summer.  He curls his hand around her jaw and brings her up for a lazy kiss hello.  Everything is golden and warm— even the grey metal walls seem welcoming instead of grim and forbidding, and his heart swells.

“Morning,” he says, and wonders if it’s the after effects of the tea or _her_ that has him feeling like this— euphoric and content despite the wave of fire that is coming to incinerate them all.  He runs his hand down her side and stops at a long scar across her ribs.  It’s pink and shiny, long healed, but he rubs his thumb across the raised flesh and frowns.  “When did you get this?”

Clarke giggles.  “You remember,” she says, playful, and he can’t stop himself from stealing a kiss before returning to his fixation.  He shakes his head and she sighs.  “Mount Weather,” she explains, and he furrows his brow again.

“You were injured at Mount Weather?”  He realizes it must have been on her way out the first time, back when he thought she was dead.  Raven had told him she spent the night in medical before he returned, but he’d thought that was just Abby being overprotective.  But now he bends down and kisses it, an apology feeling once more inadequate.

“You must have visited me four times in med bay,” she adds, but Bellamy is too busy nuzzling the soft undersides of her breasts to pay attention.  He hadn’t even let himself want this, but now that she was here he was going to take every second they had.  

But when he goes to kiss her lips again, he pauses.  “In med bay?” he asks, and Clarke cranes her neck to close the distance, but he pulls away.

 _He never visited Clarke in med bay._  He’d seen her sick or injured dozens of times, but never when there was time to take her to med bay.  Never sat next to her bed, waiting for her to wake.

Another memory stirs in his mind, of an unconscious blonde on a cot in the corner of the clinic.  Of Raven being in the bed next to her, sarcastically telling him off for worrying over nothing.

He shakes it off, but it persists, buzzing in his ear.

Gina had been there too, but that’s wrong— all wrong.  Gina never knew Clarke.  They never existed in the same space; Gina never stood at his shoulder and said _Dr. Griffin says she’s fine, come get something to eat_ while Clarke slept.

Bellamy blinks and the muzzy, liquid feeling in his muscles starts to drain.  The heat fades, replaced by a swelling coldness.  The hip he’s touching is too narrow, the blonde hair he’s seeing just a shade too dark.  He blinks again and it’s like his vision is swirling, telescoping in and out.  The golden haze dims and the world turns grey and bleak like a radio tuning to a new channel.

Bellamy’s stomach turns to writhing snakes.  Clarke’s smile is replaced by Bree’s, and all at once everything comes into focus.  “That tea was some serious shit, wasn’t it?” Bree says, and he feels sick but not because of her. Because of _what he did_.  “Pretty sure I thought you were my ex at one point,” she continues, completely unconcerned.  “But this was fun.”  She rolls out of the bed and starts getting dressed, brisk and businesslike.  “We should do it again before the world ends,” she says with a wink, and Bellamy does his best to muster up a smile.

He’s not sure it’s convincing, but she buys it anyway.  “See you around, Bell,” Bree says finally, and he waves goodbye.  The door shuts and he falls back against his pillow.

Alone.


	15. Suits and Dresses and Rooftop Patios

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> An anon asked for Bellamy as Clarke's suit-wearing new neighbor.

He moved in the week she was out of town.  Clarke left when 6C was empty but when she came back there was a light on under the door and she could smell onions and garlic sautéing on the stove.  Her stomach grumbled and she dragged her suitcase down the hall to 6D, her keys in hand. **  
**

She didn’t see him for another week.  He was unlocking his mailbox, dark curls hanging into his face, with a suit that fit nicely across his shoulders.  Clarke watched him for a moment before shaking her head and snapping out of it.  He didn’t notice her, too wrapped up in flipping through his mail as he walked, and she allowed herself one more second to scope out his ass before opening her own mailbox.

So she had a handsome neighbor.  Big deal.  She’d lived with Luna, an actual mermaid goddess of the sea, for two years before getting her own place.  If she could handle that, she could handle seeing an attractive guy in the hallway every now and then.

Except Clarke had never really considered what a man in a well fitting suit did to her.  It wasn’t like, a _thing_ for her usually, so it had never been a problem before. But whatever her neighbor did— she’d heard someone in the hallway call him Blake, but she wasn’t sure if it was his first or last name— apparently required suits that were, in her professional opinion, works of art.

Grey, navy, charcoal, or black— it didn’t matter the color.  Each and every one was tailored to fit him perfectly, showing off his shoulders and biceps.  His shirts underneath were always crisp and his tie neatly knotted below his adam’s apple, except for the unexpectedly warm April day when he walked into the lobby of their building with his jacket over his shoulder, his tie undone and his sleeves rolled up his forearms.

The hottness was so blinding Clarke had to look away.

But of course, that would be the day that he walked into the elevator and smiled politely at her.  “You’re 6D, right?” he asked as the doors hissed closed.

“Yeah.  I’m Clarke, by the way,” she said, and it was the strangest thing, but it seemed like he was avoiding making eye contact with her.  

“Clarke.  So that’s a first name, I gather?” he said, and his ears turned just the tiniest bit red as he hastened on.  “I heard someone call you that, but I wasn’t sure if it was your first or last name.  I’m Bellamy, by the way.  Bellamy Blake, so I get the same confusion.”  The last bit came out in a rush, like he was _nervous_.

Well, that certainly changed things.  Clarke bit back a smile and smoothed down the hem of her sundress.  His eyes definitely followed the movement and then lingered on her legs.  “First name, yeah.  Nice to meet you, Bellamy,” she said with just a touch of flirtation in her tone.

The elevator reached the sixth floor and they both stepped out.   “There’s a rooftop patio here, you know,” Bellamy said, spinning his keys on his finger.  They jingled and then he caught them in his palm, a shy smile flashing across his face.

“I know; I’ve lived here for almost a year,” she said.  “But I’ve never been up there before.”

“It’s nice out today,” he ventured and stopped at his door.

“It is,” she said, no longer fighting her smile.  

He grinned back and then ducked his head down.  “I might go up there later.  Enjoy the weather, and all.”

A pack of butterflies exploded somewhere south of her sternum, but Clarke kept her face steady.  “I might too.  Maybe I’ll see you there, neighbor,” she replied, and it took every ounce of her willpower not to skip down the hall to her door.

But she managed, because Bellamy was watching her the whole way.


	16. The Marriage Bed

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> @apanoplyofsong suggested virgin!Bellamy, so here’s virgin!Bellamy with a side of mid-nineteenth century England and entirely too much Clarke backstory, because why the fuck not.

Clarke had never imagined her life would turn out like this.  Finn was a respectable officer in the British Army, kind and good natured and the perfect choice for the only daughter of a modestly landed baronet.  When she married him her father was still alive and Clarke saw her life stretching placidly out before her— perhaps without the excitement she still sometimes craved, but happily enough. **  
**

But then came Finn’s betrayal.  It had brought her Raven, of course, for which Clarke was strangely thankful, but placed immense strain on their marriage.  When war broke out in a distant Russian territory Clarke was almost relieved, and Finn seemed to feel the same way as he left to lead his men.

He would never return from the Crimean soil that claimed him.  Clarke was a widow, and for years she thought that was to be her fate.  Lexa had changed everything for her again, but she was long gone now, having traded the stuffy dining rooms of England for the wilds of the Canadian prairies.  Part of Clarke had longed to go with her, but that would mean abandoning Arkadia to Cage Wallace, and that Clarke could not countenance.  The people who lived on her land were like family and she would not abandon them to a man who would turn them out of their homes before the ink was dry.

But then three months ago, Clarke received word that Wallace was going to press his claim anyway.   _A single woman with no issue cannot manage an estate in her own name_ proclaimed the papers his lawyer filed.   _Therefore the inheritance of Arkadia and all its endowed lands shall pass to the male heir._  Wells had tried to fight it but the laws were clear— a woman could not inherit, and her choices were to turn Arkadia over to Cage or marry again and hope for a male heir.  (Cage himself had proposed marriage, but Clarke had tossed him out of the house with a shudder at the thought.)

Arkadia was a tempting prize for several eligible bachelors, but Clarke promised herself she would only marry someone she could look upon with some measure of warmth.  That ruled out most, and insipid conversation ruled out the rest.  And then, quite by chance, she met Bellamy Blake.

He was middle class but wealthy, having turned his mother’s seamstress business into a clothier empire.  Half of Clarke’s staff wore his dresses on their days off, and he was intelligent and not unpleasant to look at.

More importantly, he had an unruly teenage sister and despaired of ever finding her a proper match.  Marrying Clarke would provide him with a title and an entrance to society, and it would provide Clarke shelter from Cage’s grasping claws.  She’s proposed marriage to him within a week and he accepted without hesitation, and now here they were.

On their wedding night.

Clarke had plenty of experience in the marriage bed and still her nerves were roiling. It seemed her new husband was no better.  He took a damnably long time at the fireplace, having sent away her maid and insisting he would build the blaze himself.

Now he stood, his face unreadable in the flickering light.   _We will have to have a child.  Two, maybe, if the first is a girl.  But you need not touch me more than is required_ , she’d said somewhat awkwardly during their negotiations.  Bellamy had shrugged at that, and she tucked away her own disappointment because this was a business arrangement and nothing more.  The fact that she found him attractive had little to do with anything, least of all marriage.

But now that seemed foolhardy.  All she could think about was running her fingers across the planes of his chest, feeling his shoulders move under her touch.  But he stayed two paces away, his hands curled into fists.  “There’s no need to do this tonight,” Clarke said, because Bellamy’s eyes were darting around the room, looking anywhere but at her.  The rejection stung, but they were hardly more than strangers— they could take some time, get acquainted before trying this again.

“Won’t make any difference,” he muttered.  “You’ll find out soon enough.  I’ve— I’ve never…done this before.”

“I know you’ve never been wed before,” she teased, but he blushed hotly.

“No…this.”  Clarke raised an eyebrow because a man like him probably had his pick of women— or men, if they appealed to him too.  The blush spread down his neck and Clarke felt an overwhelming surge of fondness.  “I had a sister to raise and an example to set,” he explained.  “I never…found the time.”

Clarke had several sentences on the tip of her tongue, but none of them seemed sufficient.  Instead, she reached out and took his hand.  He let out a shuddering breath and gave her a sheepish smile.  “It’s nothing to be scared of,” she said and drew close enough to feel his heat radiating off of him.  

Bellamy chuckled.  “I’m not frightened, just—”

“Unsure,” she finished when he seemed at a loss.  She reached up and cupped her hand around his jaw.  “Then just…let me,” Clarke said, and guided his face down to hers.

His kiss was hesitant at first, but then she felt him relax and his tongue met hers.  “I thought you said you’d never done this before,” she purred as she broke the kiss, taking in his hooded eyes.  

“I said I’d never had sex, not that I’d never kissed someone,” he growled, and then his hands curled around her waist and pressed her back against the poster of her bed.  It made her dizzy, fuzzy in a way she’d almost resigned herself to never feeling again.  Clarke fumbled with the buttons on his shirt and his mouth traveled to her jaw. She’d had her maid help her from her dress, corset, and crinolines so all that remained was her shift, but it still felt like too much.  She shoved his shirt off his shoulders and Bellamy tugged her shift over to reveal her clavicle.  His hands roamed her body eagerly, thumbs brushing over her aching nipples and then down to her backside, and she reached down his trousers and felt him hard against her palm.

He kissed down the side of her neck and slowly, they peeled their clothing off of one another until there was naught but skin left between them.  By then Clarke was nearly trembling, and she guided Bellamy back onto the bed, the warm orange light from the fire licking across his skin.  She laid down beside him and traced her hand down his chest.  It was smooth to the touch but she left goosebumps in her wake, and Bellamy licked his lips.  “Now what?” he asked, and then huffed out a laugh.  “I know the basics, but…”

Clarke pressed her lips against his gently and smiled.  “Now you touch me,” she whispered, and he flashed her a smile that seemed to settle into her bones.  Bellamy rolled to his side, his length hard against her hip, and kissed her lips, her jaw, and then her breasts, the heat of his mouth contrasting with the ever present chill of an English country estate.  His hand skimmed over her belly and brushed against the thatch of curls above her legs and then he paused.  He raised his eyebrows and Clarke brought her hand to cover his.  She guided his fingers down between her legs, and she watched his eyes widen a little when the felt the wetness gathered there.  His lips curved into a smile and Clarke craned her neck to kiss him, her heart swelling more than she thought possible.  His fingers were calloused but gentle, and he let her show him how to touch her.  She drew him down to her entrance to gather her slickness, and then up to the bud at the crest of her folds and urged him to tease it with deliberate, steady pressure.  

Her new husband was a quick study and Clarke soon let her own hand fall away.  He watched her face carefully, his smile deepening when he found a rhythm that made her moan.  Clarke let her eyes flutter closed and gave herself over the sensation, and just when she wanted to beg him he eased a finger inside of her.   She keened at that and Bellamy kissed her and pressed a second finger into her.  His fingers were blunt and thick, and all of his own accord he returned his thumb to the apex of her thighs and drew tight, quick circles.  

Her muscles went tight and liquid at once and she felt her breath coming in short gasps, and when Bellamy scraped his teeth across her nipple she came unwound all at once. Bellamy watched her with something like awe in his eyes as she clenched around his fingers.  Then he slowly withdrew his fingers and without taking his eyes from her, he brought them to his mouth and cleaned her arousal off.

Clarke watched, her lips parting, and once he was done she surged up to kiss him, chasing her own taste.  Bellamy growled and they rolled, his need for her ever more evident.  Clarke’s limbs were still heavy from her peak but she still craved more, so she climbed astride him.  She met his gaze and waited for his nod and then sank down on him, letting him fill her completely.

Clarke had to close her eyes for a moment and remind herself to breathe, because the feeling of him inside of her was almost more than she could take.  Bellamy’s hands settled on her hips and she started to move, her body opening to him more and more with each thrust.  Bellamy watched her with that look in his eyes— like he had never seen her like before— and his hands skimmed up her sides to tweak her nipples.  Clarke tipped her head back, her hair falling down her almost to her waist, and let her hand travel to between her thighs.  She could feel him moving inside of her and he swore under his breath as she touched herself, needing to join him as he fell apart.

And join him she did, both of them shuddering to completion just heartbeats apart.  Bellamy swelled and let go inside of her and her thighs shook and she bit back a scream.  Clarke let her head drop down between her shoulders and they both gasped for air.  Bellamy helped her off of him and she laid down against his side, a flickering doubt kindling in her mind.  Rejection now would hurt more than she’d bargained for, and she hoped she wasn’t making a mistake by letting herself be like this with him– open; relaxed; vulnerable.  She pushed it aside and propped her cheek in her hand, smiling down at him.

Bellamy reached up and tucked a wisp of hair back, his own smile something akin to nervous.  The doubt dimmed.  “So that’s marriage,” he said, and she giggled.  

“That’s marriage,” she agreed, and swept her thumb across his swollen lips.  He nipped at her finger and she laughed again, dipping down to kiss him.  And with that, the doubt guttered out. 


	17. You're gonna have to pull the trigger, then

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> For @nataliecrown and @alienor-woods, those beautiful monsters.
> 
> Post 410 spec.

A gunshot _cracked_ near his ear and echoed in the small chamber.  Bellamy stopped and saw the perfect round hole where it was buried in the thick cement wall, his brain not fully comprehending what he saw.  He was still thinking about Octavia, left out in the black rain, a wave of fire bearing down on her.  The present was oddly flat and meaningless compared to that;, unreal and distant.

“Bellamy, please,” Clarke begged.

Slowly, he dragged his eyes from the bullet hole to her face.  Her eyes were dark, cold pits, fear and sadness etched into the creases in her forehead.  “What are you doing?” he asked, his ears still ringing.  His vision tunneled as he stared at the gun.

The gun in Clarke’s hand.

The gun pointed at _him_.

“What I have to.  Like always,” she replied.  The gun was trembling but her jaw was set.  Determined.

Determined to _shoot him_.

“Octavia’s out there,” he pleaded.  “She’s— she’s out there.  You can’t expect me to—”

“– if you open that door, we die,” Clarke interrupted.  “All of us.  I can’t let that happen.”

“You don’t know that.”

“I do,” she said, her voice breaking.  Tears filled her eyes but didn’t fall.  “After what I did— they’ll kill us for it.  I have no choice.  This is…this is who I need to be.”

The words landed like a body blow.  He’d said that to her once in a vain attempt at comfort and hearing them now sent ice down his spine.  But her hand was still shaking and a tear fell, so he took a step down and then another.  “Then do it,” he said, thankful his voice was steady.  His heart was cracking in two but he sounded sure; certain.

“Bellamy,” she whispered.

“You know I won’t leave her out there.  So do it,” he urged.  “This is who you need to be, right?  If you believe that, then do it.  Kill me.”

“Bellamy, please,” she repeated.

“You have no choice,” he spat.  He reached the floor but she didn’t lower the gun, just swallowed hard.  “And neither do I.  That’s my sister out there.  So if you’re going to shoot me, shoot me.”  

He walked towards her and Clarke shook her head in despair.  “Don’t do this, please.  You know— you know I can’t.  I need you.”

“Do you?”  His mind was clearing now, disbelief giving way to anger.   _You need me?  You left me.  And now you might kill me._

“I do,” she said, and it sounded like a sob.  He drew closer, the gun still between them.  “You know I do.  I— I made sure you were safe.  I couldn’t do this without you.”  She took a shuddering breath.  “I love you,” she said, and it felt like a slap.

In another life those words might have brought him joy, but now they just pissed him off.  “Then choose,” he growled, and stepped right up to her.  The barrel of the gun pressed into his sternum; cold and hard and deadly.  “Do it, or let me save my sister.”  

Clarke met his gaze and he saw his death flicker there.  He swallowed, not letting himself break, and wondered if she’d do it.  A tear tracked down her cheek, then another and then another.  And then the moment passed. 

“They’ll kill us,” she protested, but Bellamy just wrapped his hand around hers and slowly tugged the gun away from his chest.  It clattered to the floor and they collapsed into one another, Clarke’s face mashing against his shoulder and his arms coming up to hold her.  The anger that had flared in his gut dimmed— not yet cold ash, but no longer threatening to consume him.  Clarke sobbed and he felt his own tears start to fall fall.  “I did what I had to,” she kept murmuring, and he smoothed her hair down and nodded.

Because this world wasn’t fair and never would be.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (Bellamy definitely goes and gets Octavia like two seconds after this but it made for a very anticlimactic ending so I cut it.)


	18. Turnabout's fair play

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> @Cassians-bodhi asked for Bellamy finding a drawing of himself in Clarke's things.

_Turnabout’s fair play,_ Clarke figured, as she hefted Bellamy a little higher on her shoulder.  His breath fanned against her ear, smelling like four too many whiskey and cokes.  “Just a little farther,” she coaxed. **  
**

“You don’t have to help me,” he slurred.

“You helped me,” she countered and picked through his keys to find the right one.

* * *

_Everything in her body hurt.  Every muscle ached and she was somehow on fire and freezing at the same time.  She heard a noise from the front door and honestly, if it was someone coming to kill her, she didn’t even care.  She felt like death anyway. They were welcome to try._

_But her murderer didn’t come to the bedroom and her curiosity got the better of her and she heaved herself out from under her nest of blankets._

_But in the kitchen, Clarke realized her fever must be sky high.  Because Bellamy Blake was standing at her stove with his sleeves rolled up to his forearms.  Her nose was stuffed up but whatever he was cooking smelled savory and delicious._

_“You should be in bed,” he observed without looking over his shoulder.  The last time she’d seen him she was reasonably sure she’d called him a smug jackass.  But then he called her a spoiled princess so they were at least even on that front._

_“I didn’t realize hallucinations could be this vivid,” she said and sank into a chair.  Her head felt too big for her body and her knees were weak.  She’d used up her energy walking the twenty feet to the kitchen, apparently.  “How did you get in?”_

_“I swiped Miller’s key,” he said, turning back to the stove.  “And I made enough soup to last you a few days.”_

_“Why?”_

_“Because when you have the flu it’s easy to run out of energy and that makes it harder to feed yourself.  In 1918, whole families starved to death during the flu pandemic thanks to fatigue.  So I made a bunch.  You can heat this up in seconds and it should keep you going until you feel better.”_

_Clarke closed her eyes and rested her head against the wall behind her.  “I mean, why did you come here?”_

_“Monty said you’d missed three days of work.  I figured you were really sick and everyone else is a germaphobe.”  Something clunked in front of her and she opened her eyes to find a bowl of soup with steam curling from the surface.  “And unlike the rest of our asshole friends, I’ve got my flu shot.”_

_Clarke eyed him warily and picked up the spoon.  “You really think I’m going to starve to death?”_

_Bellamy shrugged, a smile playing on his lips.  “Probably not..  But why risk it?”_

_“Thanks,” she said, fighting her own smile._

_Bellamy watched her eat and when she stood to take her bowl to the sink he plucked it from her hands.  “Back to bed,” he ordered, and if Clarke was feeling better she would have argued, but the heat that usually fueled their disagreements was gone, replaced by something akin to fondness.  He followed her to her bedroom— probably a wise choice, since she was really dizzy— and when she stumbled over a sweatshirt she’d left on the floor he caught her before she fell._

_“Careful,” he said, steadying her and helping her the last few feet to her bed.  Clarke let him bring the blankets up to her chin and tuck her in.  “I’ll put the soup in the fridge and let myself out,” he said and turned to walk out._

_He stopped at her dresser where her sketchbook was lying open and frowned.  “What?” Clarke asked, but he just shook his head._

_“Nothing.  Get some rest,” he directed, and then he was gone._

* * *

Clarke unlocked Bellamy’s door and heaved him inside.  He stumbled as he kicked off his shoes and she nudged him in the direction of his bedroom while she poured him a glass of water.  

His jeans were in a pile on the floor when she entered his room, his face mashed against his pillow.  “Drink this,” she ordered, and Bellamy groaned and pushed himself up.

“The room is spinning,” he complained and accepted the water.

“That’s what happens when you get super drunk,” she countered, but she kept her tone light.  Ever since her flu they’d been something like friends, but any time she tried to get closer to him he’d withdraw.  It was confusing, but at least tonight he’d agreed to let her help him home.

“Why me?” Bellamy slurred.

“Hmm?” Clarke asked.  

He drained the glass and flopped back down on his bed.  “Why’d you draw me?”  For a second she wasn’t sure what he was talking about, but then she remembered her sketchbook.

“It isn’t that I _like_ his face, it’s that it’s an _interesting_ face,” she’d explained to Lincoln when flicked through her work and raised his eyebrows at her three pages of sketches of Bellamy.  She’d been trying to capture the tilt of his chin and the angle of his cheekbones at first, and then moved on to trying to get the sparks in his eyes just right.  Lincoln clearly didn’t believe her, but Lincoln was sober.  Bellamy was drunk, which made this a lot easier.

“You have a sketchable face,” she said lightly.

“What’s that mean?”

“I means I like drawing your face,” she said, and Bellamy pressed his face into the pillow again.

“I like your face,” he mumbled, and her heart did a stutter step.  

 _That’s not what I said_ was on the tip of her tongue, but instead she just drew up his sheets.  “Get some rest,” she ordered and let herself out, her heart thundering the whole time.


	19. Anything and Everything

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> @jshtmblr asked for bellarke dancing at the end of the world, and I combined it with an anon request for bellarke and “I wish I had done everything on earth with you” from the great gatsby movie.
> 
> Also idk what’s gonna happen in 411 so let’s just pretend they all decide to go get Raven for #reasons, okay? Okay cool.

Clarke paced around Becca’s kitchen, wondering if it would survive the death wave.  Music played quietly in the background and she trailed her fingers across the countertop, wishing she’d had time to use it.  She’d like to learn how to cook but there wasn’t time for that anymore. **  
**

Everyone else was back in the lab, a flurry of activity, but Clarke had ducked out.  No one wanted her down there and she wondered if maybe it would be better if she just left.  Slip out the door now, while they weren’t looking.  Bellamy had a plan to get them all back in the bunker before the wave arrived but rest of them would all be welcomed with open arms— her presence made it a risk.

She had to go, but for now, she gave herself a few minutes to appreciate the luxury of Becca’s home.  Footsteps made her look up to find Bellamy watching her carefully.  “How’s it going down there?” she asked.

“Almost ready to leave,” he said.  “You okay?”

Clarke looked at him, his jaw tense but his eyes concerned.  Even after what she’d done with the bunker he still worried about her.  “Dance with me,” she said, and he cocked his head to the side.  “I know it’s not your thing, but…just in case we don’t make it back.  Dance with me.”

“Clarke…”

“Just one song,” she requested, but her heart was pleading.  If this was their goodbye she needed it to be good.  One last moment she could cling to while she burned.  “One song and we can go back to the lab to finish packing.”

Bellamy swallowed and held out his hand.  She took it and let him draw her close, his other hand coming to rest on her lower back.  His jacket smelled like smoke and motor oil and cordite, but underneath that he just smelled like Bellamy.  It was a good scent; comforting.  Clarke breathed him in and they started swaying.  Her arm wrapped around his shoulders and she nuzzled her face into his neck.  Tears welled in her eyes but she wouldn’t let them fall— not now.  If she cried he’d know and she couldn’t risk that.  “We’ll make it back,” he said, his chest rumbling under her ear.

“What if it’s the end?” she whispered.  Her fears were threatening to overtake her and she couldn’t help it, she needed him to make her feel better one last time.  It was horrific and selfish but she hoped that some day he’d look back on this moment kindly.

Bellamy stayed silent and she knew he was choosing his words carefully.  “Then at least we got to dance.”

But it wasn’t enough.  Nothing would be.  “What would you have done?  If we had time, I mean,” she asked because Clarke was greedy.  She wanted to store up these precious moments so that when the end came she could tell herself she knew him as best she could, that she understood him even if she’d hurt him.

“Swimming,” he said with a chuckle.  “I never learned to swim and I don’t think there’s a pool in Cadogan’s bunker.”  A smile flickered across her own face.  “You?”

 _Anything and everything, as long as it was with you_ , she thought. _I would have done everything on earth if it was with you._  “Learn to cook,” she said, and felt him smile against her temple.

“We can probably manage that in the bunker,” he pointed out, and Clarke’s throat threatened to close.  He was planning for the future and she was planning for the end, but if she told him so it would break him.

“True,” she lied.  

The song ended and Bellamy stepped out of her arms.  “I’ll meet you back at the lab?” he asked, and Clarke nodded.

“Yeah, just give me a minute,” she said, and Bellamy walked to the doors without a backwards glance.

She watched him hungrily and hoped that when he realized what she’d done he’d see the dance for what it was.

Goodbye.


	20. At the top of the world

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A drunk drabble night entry for "ferris wheel kisses."

Clarke kicked her legs out and the seat squeaked as it swung back and forth.  The whole fair was spread out below them, lights and tinny music and people crawling across the yellow-brown grass.  They were stopped at the very top, her favorite part. **  
**

“Stop it,” Bellamy said tightly.

“What, chicken?” she teased.  Everyone else was paired off so she’d ended up with him despite their years of enmity.

“Just stop it,” he said, and she realized he wasn’t looking down, just resolutely out.  A muscle in his jaw flickered and his knuckles were white.  The ferris wheel started with a stomach-jerking lurch and then juddered to a stop, the lights flickering off completely as the power died.

Bellamy swore viciously under his breath and Clarke felt a pang of sympathy.  He’d covered for her the time she was too hungover to work the cash register, after all, and he was always willing to be the designated driver when they went out.  “Don’t look down,” she said, trying to be sympathetic.

“I’m not,” he gritted out from between his clenched teeth.  She looked down and saw the operator gesturing frantically.  They probably weren’t coming down any time soon.

“Look at me,” she said.  Bellamy jerked his head over to her and she rested her hand over his on the bar.  “Do you trust me?”

He made a noise that was half scoff, half laugh.  “Enough, I guess.”

“Close your eyes,” she said, and he looked at her warily before complying.

Clarke leaned over and pressed her lips to his, dry and chaste.  She felt Bellamy’s muscles tense under her touch and then suddenly release, his mouth opening to hers.  It felt good to kiss him— better than it should, really.  She took his face in her hands and he melted into her.  Clarke decided not to think about what they were doing, the two of them at the top of the world.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (drunk drabble night means I get drunk and write drabbles. It's fairly self explanatory.)


	21. Face Painting

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> An anon asked for bellarke and face painting.

Clarke put one last brush of red paint on the little girl’s cheekbone.  “There you go, one Spiderman, ready to play,” she announced, and the little girl wiggled off the chair.  Clarke sat back and scanned the crowd.  She’d been painting faces at Wells and Maya’s daughter’s birthday for close to an hour and most of the kids bore evidence of her handiwork.  The birthday girl— newly three, as she would tell everyone proudly– was playing with bubbles out on the other side of the crab apple tree, her parents chasing her around while she giggled.  Clarke smiled to herself and sat back. **  
**

A little boy with dark curls and serious eyes caught her eye.  He was standing next to a man who had to be his father if the curls were anything to go by, except the father had a spray of freckles that made Clarke watch to sketch him.  He caught her watching them and ruffled his son’s hair.  “Go ahead, ask her,” he said, crouching down.

The boy hid his face in his father’s neck and shook his head.  “Sorry, he’s been wanting to ask you but he’s not great with strangers.  This is Gus; I’m Bellamy.”

Clarke smiled, more at Bellamy than Gus. Her eyes darted to his hands— no ring, which maybe didn’t mean anything, but it was a hopeful sign. “Clarke.  I’ll be around until the end of the party, if it helps.”

Gus peeked at her and mumbled something.  “A little louder, buddy,” Bellamy said gently.  

“Can I be a mouse?” Gus asked, and Clarke nodded.  He clambered into the chair in front of her and Clarke drew a quick nose and whiskers, her eyes darting to Bellamy a little more often than strictly necessary.  Gus sat very still, his eyes wide and solemn, and when he was done he flashed her a shy grin before running over to the bubbles.  Bellamy waved and then went to follow him, and Clarke would be lying if she didn’t say she kept an eye on him.  She liked his broad shoulders, and she liked the way he chased his son around with a wide grin.

Half an hour later Bellamy walked over to her, a beer in hand.  “Wells said you’d probably want one,” he said and took the seat next to her.  She accepted the beer and hoped he felt those little sparks when their fingers touched too.  “How do you know the birthday girl?”

“She’s my goddaughter.  You?”

“Gus is in the same day care as Frida.”  Clarke nodded and tried to figure out a casual way to ask about Gus’s mom, but she was drawing a blank.  Bellamy stole a look at her and smiled shyly.  “I might as well admit, I asked Wells if you were single.”

Clarke grinned.  “And here I was, trying to figure out a good way to ask the same thing.”

His smile deepened.  “I am.  I have full custody of Gus though, full disclosure.”

“And what’s your babysitting situation like?”

“I have a sister who pitches in.”

Clarke took a long swig of her beer.  “So?”  Bellamy looked confused and she laughed.  “What are you waiting for?”

Bellamy leaned back in his chair, the summer sun catching on his hair.  “Maybe I’m waiting for you to ask me,” he flirted.  

“Looks like we’re at an impasse then,” Clarke, biting back a smile.  

Just then Gus came barreling over into Bellamy’s lap, babbling about Maya’s new toys and tugging on his hand.  Bellamy stood to follow him and winked.  “See you around,” he said, and Clarke winked back.


	22. Unfinished Business

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A missing scene from 412, for reblogginhood's birthday.

Clarke put her hand on the door and steeled herself before opening it.  Bellamy had his back to her, pulling out the radiation suits.  “”It’ll be close to an hour.  The rover needs to be charged,” she told him. **  
**

Bellamy didn’t look back.  “We don’t have an hour.”

“Well we won’t help anyone if the rover dies halfway there,” she said, fighting to keep the annoyance out of her voice.  Bellamy had barely looked at her since he came back in with Octavia and Kane.  The hurt burrowed deep into her chest.  Bellamy always understood, even when he disagreed.  “Bellamy—”

“No,” he snapped and finally turned around.  “Don’t— don’t do this.”  The look in his eyes hurt worse than him avoiding her; pain and anger and disappointment all burning into her.  “You were going to leave my sister to die.”

“I thought—”

“I know what you thought, Clarke.  I know, and I know you thought you had to.  But did you ever think about asking me?”

“I—”

“You made this decision on your own and then you just expect me to go along with it,” he continued.  “What the hell happened to _together_?”

“You wouldn’t have gone along with it,” she retorted.  “You needed to believe in your sister and I needed— I needed to save everyone.”

Bellamy advanced on her.  “And what about me?  What if I hadn’t left the tower?  Would you have closed the door on me?”  His eyes were shining with unshed tears.

Clarke shook her head.  “You know I wouldn’t have,” she said softly.

“Do I?”  The moment by the door hung thick in the air. “Clarke, what…what do I mean to you?”

Clarke blinked back tears.   _What do you mean to me?  Everything._  But the words wouldn’t come.  They felt too flimsy, like a hollow excuse for the person she’d become.  So she decided to show him instead.

Clarke fisted his shirt in her hands and tugged him down, their lips meeting in an awkward kiss.  Bellamy was immobile and she went to step away, afraid she’d crossed another line, but then he was cupping her face in his hands and kissing her back.

Her tears started to fall and she tasted salt on his cheeks, because the world was ending and she’d ruined everything.  But still they clung to each other, their touches growing increasingly desperate.  Clarke unzipped his jacket and peeled it off his shoulders and he twisted his hands in her braid, yanking her head back so he could kiss down her neck.  She reached down and palmed him through his jeans and Bellamy gasped into her throat, and from there there was no turning back.  He eased his hand down her waistband, finding her wet and wanting.  It took her almost no time to reach her peak and then she was shoving his jeans down around his hips and letting him hoist her in his arms.

If Clarke had let herself imagine fucking Bellamy if certainly wouldn’t have been like this, pinned to the wall next to a box of hazmat suits while they waited for a wave of fire that could kill them all.  She never imagined that they’d both be a mess of emotions, want and need and anger and sadness and desperation warring inside her as Bellamy’s hips rocked in a punishing rhythm.  He kissed her sloppily and she clung to his shoulders, needing to memorize how he felt inside of her.  He came sharply and mumbled her name, his lips pressed to her temple.

And then just as quickly as it started, the moment passed.  Bellamy set her down and turned away.  His dark eyes shuttered and Clarke barely managed to straighten her clothes and accept the hazmat suit he held out to her when her mother walked in, concern written across her face.  Clarke stole one more look at him but it was like it had never happened, so she squared her shoulders and turned back to her mother.  They didn’t have time to talk about this now.  It would have to wait until later.

She just hoped there would be a later for them.


	23. Gina was real.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> @storyskein requested Bellamy cleaning Clarke's gun post 413 and finding Gina's name on the strap.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Let the hiatus ficlets begin!

Clarke walked back into the warm circle of light cast by the fire and set down her buckets.  A little water sloshed over the sides but there was still plenty left for them to boil.  Madi was talking a bemused Murphy through skinning a rabbit and Raven, Emori, and Monty were arguing over the best way to move the rubble from the bunker.

Bellamy was sitting on the other side of the fire with her rifle balanced on his knees, a distant look in his eyes.  Echo and Harper picked up the water with a grateful smile and Clarke went over to sit next to Bellamy.  “I cleaned it every day, just like you’d have wanted,” she said, bumping her shoulder into his with a friendly grin.

He gave her a sad half-smile and nodded towards the strap.  “You put Gina on there,” he said softly.  “You didn’t have to do that.”

 “Sure I did,” she said.

 “Did you even know her?” he asked curiously.

 “A little.  I know she worked in requisitions and recycling on the Ark.  I know she helped with scavenging down here and I know she died trying to save everyone in Mount Weather.  And I know you loved her.”  She didn’t know much more than that, truth be told, but she’d made sure to tell Madi about the girl with curly hair who died a hero and the boy with dark eyes who loved her.  It was the least she could do, after everything Clarke had cost him.

Bellamy pressed his lips together in a frown, the expression so familiar it made her heart ache.  She’d picturd him making that face so often over the last six years she’d started to wonder if it really was something he did or just something she imagined.  But there it was, guilt and frustration mixed with a sort of fondness.  “I didn’t know her very well,” he admitted.  “And I didn’t really let her know me.”

“You didn’t have much time,” she replied.  She left off the fact that it was her fault Gina died— if Bellamy hadn’t left Mount Weather to come save her, Gina might still be alive.  Or maybe not, given everything that had happened since then.  But Bellamy might have had more time with her.  Every name in that strap was a mark of her guilt and a reminder of what they had all lost, and Gina was no different.  “Madi likes her story, you know,” she said.

 Bellamy watched Madi across the fire where she sat jabbering excitedly to Murphy.  Clarke had worried that Madi would be overwhelmed by new people after so long alone, but she’d handled the change better than Clarke had.  Even as her heart felt like it would burst from happiness she found herself needing moments of silence, the chatter of just seven more people feeling like the din of a crowd.  But moments like this— Bellamy sitting next to her, his steadiness radiating into her core— were what she had dreamed of for six long years.  “Thank you,” he said quietly.  “For remembering her.”

 Clarke blinked back tears.   _You’re welcome_ felt false to her ears, and _any time_ wasn’t really the right sentiment.  Instead she just laid her hand on his forearm and squeezed.  

He smiled sadly, and she knew he understood.


	24. Curses Don't Have Loopholes

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> bleedtoloveher asked for bellarke + kill me, because she's a goddamn monster and I hate her.

“Do it,” the demon ordered.  Behind him the flames rose higher, gathering strength.

 “Clarke, _no_ ,” Octavia screamed.

 The sword shook in her hands.  The curse rang in her ears with terrible clarity. _Saving world will cost you the one you love most._  The words had chilled her to her very bones but Clarke hadn’t given up demon hunting, because that’s what Griffin women did.

They hunted demons.

 No matter the cost.

 So she’d withdrawn, making herself cold and aloof to protect her friends.  It was the only way she could go on; the only way she could think to survive.  Keep them at a distance so she would never have to sacrifice them.

 But the day Bellamy Blake walked into her life with his necromancer witch of a sister that all blew apart.  She’d kept him at arm’s length at first, bickering with him even as she came to rely on him.  He wormed his way into her heart and before she realized it she was throwing herself in front of a fire demon to keep him out of harm’s way.

 But no matter what, she wouldn’t say it.  Not when he kissed her, not when he pulled her out of the siren’s clutches just before her lungs gave out completely.  Not when he was inside of her, and not when he tenderly wrapped the deep cut on her arm from fighting the ice demon.  Not when he kissed her shoulder as they lay in bed together, and not when he challenged her to a sparring match with their swords.  She wanted to— every single time— but the curse kept coming back to her.   _Saving the world will cost you the one you love most_ , it said, and she hoped if she didn’t say it out loud it wouldn’t be true.

 She should have known curses didn’t have loopholes.

 “Do it,” the demon ordered.  “Kill him, or watch the world burn.”

 “No,” she spat.  “I won’t.”

 Wind from the flames fanned Bellamy’s hair, but he kept his eyes on her.  “Come on, Clarke.  There’s only one way out of this.  You know that,” he said, steady and reassuring even on the edge of death.  “I love you, O,” he called, and then those brown eyes were back on her, anguished but determined.  “It’s what has to be done,” he said.  A sad smile crossed his face.  “But hey, at least now we know curses are real.”

 Clarke made a sound that was half laugh, half sob.  Of course he would choose this moment to make a terrible joke; it was why she loved him in the first place.  “I didn’t want it to be you,” she said, and a tear rolled down her cheek as she tightened her grip on the sword.

 “I know, princess.  I didn’t either,” he said.  She stepped closer and his shoulders tensed.  “Just do it fast, okay?”

 Clarke nodded and raised the sword.

 Octavia’s scream echoed in her ears.  Bellamy’s eyes widened and Clarke could have sworn she felt the metal pierce her own heart.

 And then he fell over.

 Dead.

* * *

Clarke dragged herself back to the group.  Raven was patching up Monty and Octavia was slumped over Bellamy’s body, murmuring.  Clarke couldn’t bring herself to look at him.  “Is it over?” Harper asked.

 “It’s over,” Clarke sighed.  “Just had to do a little demon clean-up.”  Her clothes were spattered in black blood and her throat felt raw from all the smoke, but at least they were alive.

 Well, not all of them.

 Not the one who mattered.

 “You saved the world, Clarke,” her mother said.  “I’m so proud of you.”  The tears started to fall and Clarke collapsed into her mother’s arms, broken.

 Six feet away, Bellamy coughed.

 Clarke was out of her mother’s arms like a shot.  She shoved Octavia out of the way and threw herself across Bellamy’s chest.  “It worked,” she murmured.  “It worked.”

Bellamy gave a hoarse chuckle and his hand curved around the back of her head.  “Of course it worked.  My sister is one hell of a witch,” he said.  Clarke laid her head over his heart, needing to hear it beat.  He coughed again.  “Could you let up?  I did just get stabbed, you know,” he teased.

 Laughing through her tears Clarke lifted her head and helped him sit up.  She kissed him— first his lips, then his cheeks, then his eyelids— and pressed their foreheads together.  “That was a hell of a risk you took,” she scolded.

 “I trusted you,” he said, and lifted his lips to press a kiss to her forehead.  “But hey, now we know curses have loopholes.


	25. Vive le France!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> @reblogginhood asked for bellarke and "drink me."
> 
> It's a WWII AU because I do what I want.

Clarke poured another glass of whiskey for the officer sitting at the bar and gave him a tight smile.  Another patron walked in and took a seat four stools away.  He was the rare man her age not in a German uniform, but the officer at the other end of the bar paid him no attention.  “What’ll it be?” she asked.

“Whiskey,” he replied in perfectly accented French.  Too perfect, actually.  “But I’ll take whatever you’ve got.”

“Can I interest you in a pinot noir?” she asked carefully.

“I’d prefer a merlot,” he replied.  He was measuring her reaction so she continued with the code.

“I can see if I have one in the back, unless you’d prefer to look for yourself.”

He stood.  “That might be best. I can be quite particular,” he said, and followed her back into the store room.

 Clarke shut the door behind her.  “American?” she whispered in English.

“What gave it away?” he replied.  The back room was tiny, with barely enough space for the two of them to stand.

 “Accent,” she hissed back.  “You sound like a textbook.  What are the orders?”

 “Railyard about 40 miles from here, tomorrow night.  We’ll need kerosene and matches.”

 Clarke tapped her foot on the trapdoor beneath them.  “Come in just before closing.  I’ll have my car out back.”

 He nodded.  “Bellamy, by the way.”

 “Clarke,” she replied, and shook his hand.  She grabbed a bottle of merlot and handed it to him.  Back in the bar they were just a patron and a bartender. 

But by tomorrow morning, they might be facing a firing squad.

Bellamy arrived just as the last few Germans were finishing their drinks.  Clarke loathed that part of her job— the part where she served men who were destroying the world, let them think they were flirting with her while she poured their drinks and plotted their deaths.  But it also gave her a chance to collect intel as few officers considered the pretty blonde a threat.

 It was the one thing that kept her going.  That, and missions like this.

 They loaded the kerosene into her car under cover of darkness.  Clarke let him drive, hoping that if they were stopped at a checkpoint they’d look like nothing more than a collaborator and his good time girl out for a night on the town.  She had a pistol secured under her skirt and she knew he had one tucked into his waistband, but if they had to use them they probably weren’t making it out alive.  

 They rode in tense silence punctuated by sideways glances.  “Are you English?” he asked with the air of someone forcing himself to make conversation.

 “Half.  My father’s British, mother’s French,” she said.

 “That explains the accents then,” he said with a twitch of his lips.  Clarke tried to smile back but her nerves were getting the better of her.  It came out something like a grimace.

 Bellamy steered the car off the road into a ditch.  “We walk from here,” he said tightly, and she knew she wasn’t the only one picturing all the ways they could die tonight.  They picked up the kerosene and started walking through the trees, flinching at every set of headlights that passed their way.

 They could see the railyard up ahead when the sound of boots crunching through leaves made them both freeze.  In a flash they dropped their cans and Bellamy grabbed her around the waist, pushing her up against a tree.  He kissed her and in another life she might have enjoyed it, feeling his lips on hers, but all Clarke could do was focus on the sounds of the patrol drawing ever closer.  She slipped her hands under his jacket and curled her fingers around his gun.

 Bellamy’s hand dropped to her thigh and crept under her skirt, coming to rest near her holster.  He pulled away and looked her in the eye.  She nodded and he swallowed hard.  

 They waited for the cry to go up.  For the shouts and echoes of gunfire that said they’d been discovered.

 But none came.  

 The patrol moved on, his flashlight never quite reaching them.  Bellamy let out a sigh near her ear and slumped against her.  She could feel his heart pounding in his chest, her own slamming against her ribcage so loudly she wondered if he could hear it.

 When the woods had grown completely silent again Bellamy straightened.  “Sorry,” he whispered as they started to move.  “I thought if we’d been discovered—”

 “–we’d look like a couple who had snuck out for the night,” she finished, her voice pitched low.  “I know.”  She caught his eye and winked with a bravado she didn’t quite feel.  “But next time, buy me a drink first.”

 He gave her a half smile and they fell silent again.  The railyard loomed large in front of them but the fence was cut just where they were told it would be, so they crept under the wires and got to work.

 They were lucky.  The Nazis had gotten lazy, or perhaps they were more undermanned than the Resistance thought.  There were a few soldiers near the center of the yard but no one out near the outskirts, leaving dozens of cars unguarded.  They found a car stocked with grenades and Bellamy’s eyes lit up.  They had planned to douse the contents of as many cars as they could before leaving, but this made their jobs far easier.  Bellamy climbed into the car to soak the cartons of straw cushioning the explosives and Clarke poured a long trail back towards the fence.  He jumped down, light on his feet, and darted towards her.  Bellamy pulled out the matches and handed them to her, wordlessly gesturing for Clarke to do the honors.

 The match flickered and gleamed, and Clarke allowed herself a proud smile as she lowered it to the pool of kerosene near her feet.

 With a soft _whoomf_ the oil caught.  They turned and sprinted back into the woods, and the ground shook beneath their feet when the train car exploded.

 Sirens pierced the night air and suddenly, the trees around them were illuminated by the flames.  The fire found more munitions and the ground shook again and again as explosions ripped through the German supplies.  They dove behind a tree just as their patrol ran past, but he wasn’t looking for saboteurs— his attention was solely on the inferno the railyard had become.  

 They waited until he was back inside the fence before they started running.  They stumbled through the underbrush and didn’t stop until they were back in the car, the engine rumbling as Bellamy eased it back onto the road.  German trucks tore past them but none stopped, too intent on stopping the destruction.

 Clarke didn’t make a sound until they were back in the alley behind her bar, and then she laughed.  Bellamy stared at her like she was crazy but then he was laughing too, adrenaline and sheer relief and a vicious, victorious joy flowing through them both.  

She wiped at the tears on her cheeks and he tipped his head towards the bar with a bright smile.  “What do you say, princess?” he asked.  “How about that drink?”


	26. Against All Odds

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> An anon requested bellarke and "unbind me" so here, have some s5 spec.

Bellamy craned his neck towards the woods, searching for any sign of the miners.  They’d only left one guard on them and she was more than a dozen paces away, hardly bothering to pay attention.  After all, where would they run?  There was no one else left and just a tiny patch of green in which to survive. 

_ The miners had arrived suddenly and swarmed out of the docking bay with clubs and shock batons, searching for materiel to scavenge before their final descent.  He and Echo and Harper had managed to take down a dozen before they were overwhelmed.  The leader had ordered them chained up, preserved as useful resources for surviving the ground.  They had chosen Murphy to question first and he’d thrown Bellamy a pointed look as they dragged him away. _

_Bellamy’s stomach had churned listening to Murphy scream and Emori had fought against her restraints like a demon, but somehow Murphy kept his head.  He’d claimed the bunker couldn’t have possibly survived past five years, leaving the planet devoid of human life._

 They hadn’t been able to reach the bunker, but Bellamy still had hope.  That their people wouldn’t have given up just yet.

 That his sister wouldn’t have given up.  He might have already lost Clarke, but he wouldn't lose her.

 So the miners threw them all in the brig and promised them their freedom if they helped them survive.  One shaky broach of atmo and what Raven called an amateur landing and here they were, back on the ground for twelve hours and still chained to trees.

The miners had found a lake and ran whooping towards the water, leaving them with a guard who pouted about staying behind.  Bellamy caught Echo’s eye and she nodded, her wrists already chafed raw as she tried to slip from her restraints.  He looked to Raven, who flicked her eyes towards the guard.  She had the best vantage point from her tree and Raven pursed her lips in a silent whistle.

 That would be the signal, then.  

 The miners might have once been prisoners but they were terrible guards.  Bellamy’s shoulders ached as he twisted in his restraints but already he could feel the chain loosening.  He glanced at Echo again to gauge her progress and found her staring straight ahead, muscles tight.  Raven’s face drained of color and Monty’s mouth dropped open.  Whatever it was that had them terrified was just out of his line of sight, hidden by the underbrush.

 Fear spiked in Bellamy’s gut.  If a panther had survived they were nothing more than bait, and one miner who had never seen a live animal before with a shock baton wouldn’t be much protection.  He redoubled his efforts and a trickle of blood ran down his forearm to his palm, but he’d deal with that later.  Bellamy bent his head down to try and shift the angle of his chains, and then he heard it.

 A footstep.

 It was quiet— so quiet that for a moment he was sure it was a panther, but then he looked up.

 And his heart stopped.

 Blonde hair, blue eyes.  A rifle strapped to her back.  Cheeks thinner than he remembered, jaw a little sharper.  A slice of red in her hair, chopped to her chin instead of braided down her back like when he'd last seen her.

 But it was her.

_ Clarke _ .

Bellamy stared, his chains forgotten, and drank her in.  Something like a grin flickered across her face and she stole through the trees, her finger pressed to her lips for silence.  Her eyes never left his and she crouched down in front of him; real.

 Part of him had wondered if she was a ghost but ghosts didn’t crack twigs and their knees didn’t sink into mud and they certainly couldn’t touch you, their palms rough with callouses but gentle against your cheek.  Clarke brushed a curl back from his forehead and smiled, so bright and genuine he thought his heart might never start beating again.  “I’ll get you out of here,” she murmured, and then her eyes lost that soft look.  They snapped back into focus and he knew, without a doubt, they would survive.

 Because Clarke was _alive._

 


	27. Vive le France (II)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Marycontrary85 asked for bellarke and zip me. Part II to chapter 25.

Clarke reached for her revolver when she heard the hammering on the alley door.  Generally the Gestapo didn’t knock, but that sort of pounding rarely meant something good.  The bar was silent and empty as she tiptoed towards the back hallway.  She kept the gun behind her back and opened the door a crack to see Bellamy’s ashen face looking wildly around.

Without thinking she stepped back and pulled him in, slamming the door behind him.  He had his hand pressed to his side, covered in dark red blood.  “They didn’t follow me,” he gasped and leaned heavily back against the door.

Clarke flipped the lock and peeled his hand away from his side.  “Were you shot?”

 “Grazed,” he said through gritted teeth.  “I didn’t know where else to go.”

 “You did the right thing,” she assured him and helped him into the back room.  He settled onto a pallet with a grimace.  She opened the trap door and pulled out a small med kit.  She handed him a bottle of whiskey and grabbed a cheap merlot off the shelf.

 “What’s that for?” he asked as she dumped the bottle out over the trail of blood.  Dark red liquid splattered everywhere, pooling on the floor.  

“Cover,” she explained.  “It’s hard to explain blood on the floor back here, but spilled wine makes sense.  It’s not perfect, but if they don’t look too hard it should work.  That whiskey is for you to drink, by the way.”

 Bellamy lifted it with a shaking hand and took a gulp.  “How bad is this going to hurt?”

 “Probably about as much as getting shot.”  Clarke started slipping his buttons through their holes and eased the shirt down his shoulders.  

 “Buy me a drink first why don’t you,” he laughed wryly. His white undershirt was soaked with blood, but when he peeled it off she found the wound was shallower than she’d feared, simply long and bleeding something fierce.  The rest of his skin was smooth and unmarked, save for another scar across his shoulder.  Some distant part of her brain wondered if they would ever have time to themselves without this war, time where she could touch his chest softly. 

Time where he wouldn’t be bleeding profusely all over a pallet in her storeroom.

 “I’ll have to stitch this, so now’s the time for that drink,” she said and watched his throat muscles bob up and down as he swallowed.  She took the whiskey and poured it on a clean rag and then handed it back.  Bellamy hissed as she swabbed the blood away and took another drink.

 She pulled a candle stub from a higher shelf and lit it, holding the needle above the flame to sterilize it.  “Ready?” she asked him.

 “Not really,” he admitted, but he met her gaze evenly.  He jerked his chin and she began.

 By the time she finished, Bellamy was drunk.  His eyes were glassy and he didn’t seem to realize he had dried blood on his hand when he raised it up, gently brushing her cheek. Clarke smiled at him like he was just another partner in the Resistance even as her heart tumbled inside her chest.   “My apartment’s upstairs— you can sleep on the couch tonight,” she said briskly.

 Bellamy’s eyes dropped to her lips.  “Thanks for patching me up, princess,” he slurred.

 “Try not to get shot next time,” she chided, because they were fighting a war and she couldn’t lose sight of that.  

 But then she reached out and brushed his hair back from his forehead and knew she was already lost.

 

 


	28. Place your bets

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> An anon requested bellarke and strip poker.

“Bellamy, we need to talk about the patrols,” Clarke said as she ducked into his tent. 

Bellamy was sitting cross legged on his pile of furs, playing solitaire.  “What’s wrong with the patrols?” he asked without looking up.

 Clarke tipped her head to the side.  “Where’d you get those?”

 “Confiscated it,” he said and moved one chain of cards to a new spot.  Clarke clucked her tongue and he sighed.  “Some of the kids were playing cards instead of doing guard duty, okay?  I’ll give it back when they’ve learned their lesson about paying attention.”

 Clarke sat down heavily across from him.  “We have to pare back the patrols,” she said, and finally his head snapped up.

 “Absolutely not.”

 “Bellamy—”

 “Those patrols are the only thing keeping us alive,” he growled, and Clarke bit back an irritated noise.

 “And we’ll starve to death this winter if we don’t send out more hunters.”

 Bellamy met her gaze evenly.  A muscle in his jaw fluttered and Clarke pressed her lips into a thin line.  “Play you for it,” he said.

 Clarke rolled her eyes.  “This is a matter of life and death,” she pointed out.

 “Isn’t everything down here?” he asked and her lips twitched into a smile against her better judgement.

 “What’s the game?” she asked and shrugged out of her jacket.

 Bellamy scooped the cards into his hands and started to shuffle.  “Poker?”

 “What are the stakes?”

 He looked around his tent critically, stalling, and shrugged.  “I got nothing, princess,” he said, slightly abashed.

 “You’ve got what you’re wearing,” she said.  “Strip poker.  First one naked loses.”

 Bellamy’s eyes grew comically wide.  “You’re kidding.”

 “I’m not,” she said, drumming her fingers on her thigh impatiently.  “It’s a solution, so unless you have any better ideas, let’s get on with it.”  She felt a little awkward thanks to his reaction— she’d seen his rotating roster of companions and had assumed he wouldn’t bat an eyelash.  But he was acting rather scandalized and Clarke was never quite sure how to react when she’d crossed a line.  So she pretended like she was bored and that seemed to do the trick.

 “Miller!” Bellamy yelled and Miller poked his head in.  “Nobody comes in unless it’s an emergency,” Bellamy ordered.  Miller grinned knowingly and Clarke kept her chin up.  It’d probably go through the camp like wildfire but she’d deal with that later.  Besides, she couldn’t chicken out now.

 Miller left and Bellamy cast her a searching look.  “You sure?”

 Clarke squared her shoulders.  “I’m in.  You?”

 “I’m in,” he said.  He started picking at the laces of his shoes and she raised her eyebrows in question. “You took your jacket off,” he said with a crooked smile.  “Fair’s fair.”

Clarke bit her lip to keep from smiling back and started to deal.  Bellamy lost the first hand and peeled off his socks, and then on the second hand Clarke laid her cards down with a smirk and off came his shirt.

Concentrating got harder after that.  She kept flicking her eyes up, taking in the breadth of his shoulders in the firelight.  She’d seen him shirtless around camp before but this felt different, more charged.  Bellamy caught her looking but he didn’t say anything, just discarded part of his hand and drew two more cards.

 Clarke wasn’t sure if she was relieved or annoyed when she lost that hand.  She pulled her shirt off without a second thought and felt his gaze on her skin.  It wasn’t an unwelcome feeling and she found herself wishing he would say something to break the tension that was ratcheting ever higher.  But he just waited for her to deal the next hand.

 Her nerves were getting to her.  She lost again, and stood to peel off her leggings.  Bellamy’s eyes dwelt on her legs and he swallowed thickly.  She sat down, one leg tucked in and the other stretched out towards him. Bellamy’s hand came to rest on her ankle.

 She looked up and he licked his lips.  His fingers curled around the bone, delicate and gentle.  “Clarke,” he breathed, so quietly she wondered if she imagined it.  His hand was warm and steady and sent sparks spiraling up her calf.

 “I know you said it only in an emergency but I think we’ve got one out here,” Miller called, and the moment broke.  

 They both scrambled up and started searching for their clothes.  “On my way,” Bellamy yelled back and stuffed his feet back into his shoes.  He charged out of the tent without a second look, leaving her alone with her pounding heart.


	29. The Prince and the Bodyguard

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> daydreamingdesiheart asked for bellarke and "nurse me" from a prompt list.

A lot had changed in Bellamy’s life in the past year.  He’d discovered a father he’d never known, learned that father was dead, found out he was actually the heir to the crown of a country he’d never even heard of, and now he was being shot at.

 And he met Clarke Griffin and honestly, compared to her, the other things barely even ranked.

 Well, that wasn’t quite true.  Being prince of Arkadia had severely upended his life, and the assassination attempts only made it worse.  He couldn’t blame people for being upset that an American who had never set foot in Arkadia was now the heir apparent, set to take power as soon as he finished his citizenship classes.  But they didn’t have to _shoot_ at him.

 He had barely even heard the shot and then Clarke was tackling him to the ground.  The crowd started screaming and she dragged him up by the back of his shirt and stuffed him through a door he hadn’t seen before. 

Clarke spun around, taking in the room–closet, really– and then barked into her sleeve.  “Package secure— report?”  Bellamy opened his mouth to speak and she pressed a finger to his lips, silencing him.  “Harper, report?”  She listened intently and then finally lifted her finger.  “Are you okay?” she asked him.

 “You’re bleeding,” Bellamy replied.

 “I’m fine,” she said, still scanning him.  “Harper has a bead on the shooter.  He or she should be in custody momentarily.”

 “You’re _bleeding_ ,” Bellamy said again.  He touched her sleeve where red was blooming across her biceps.

 “It’s a graze,” she dismissed.

 “You’re—”

 “I’m your head of security,” she finished.  “It’s my job to take a bullet for you.”  She pressed her earpiece and looked away.  “Copy that,” she said into her wrist.  “We’re on lockdown for ten minutes,” she informed him.

 “Then we’re dealing with that,” he snapped and pointed to her arm.  Clarke sighed, rolled her eyes, and started unbuttoning her shirt.  Bellamy swallowed and averted his eyes but then a ripping noise made him glance back.  Clarke had torn a strip from the bottom of her shirt and he took it from her hands to wrap it around the slash on her arm.  It was a little distracting to do so when she was stripped down to her bra, but he persisted.  “I don’t want you to, you know,” he said quietly.

 “Don’t want me to what?”

 “Take a bullet for me,” he said, and when he looked up she was watching him with those damn blue eyes.

 “I—” She started but his hand cupped her jaw and tipped her chin up.  There were probably rules against this— laws, even— but he didn’t care.  He brought his lips down on hers and she sighed, and it was the best noise he’d ever heard.

 And he knew his life would never be the same.


	30. Bingo Night

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> storyskein asked for bellarke and Casino Night from The Office, aka one of the best episodes of television of all time.
> 
> Also, sorry in advance. ¯\\_(ツ)_/¯

Clarke was giddy.  She kept laughing and teasing him about losing to her at bingo, her eyes bright and her cheeks flushed.

 He loved her like this.  Hell, he just loved _her_.  Utterly, completely, irrevocably.

And that was why he applied for a transfer.  Because he was in love with her and she was going to marry someone else.

 “I kicked your ass, you know,” Clarke crowed, her hands tucked into her armpits to ward off the chill.  His Lyft was still five minutes away but she had trailed out after him anyway and he was greedy.  He wanted to spend every second he could with her until he left, even if her laugh sometimes felt like a knife twisting inside his ribs.  

 “It was bingo.  Not exactly any skill involved,” he said drily.  

 Clarke punched his arm.  “Yeah, but you _lost_.  At bingo, which is somehow even more pathetic.”  Bellamy smiled, but his heart wasn’t really in it. Clarke faltered a bit.  “What’s with you?  Don’t tell me you care that you lost.”

 “It’s nothing,” he lied but he knew it wouldn’t work.  She knew him better than he knew himself, with the exception of this one thing.

Which, when it came down to it, was the only thing.

 Her smile melted away, replaced by pure concern.  “What is it?” she asked again, her voice gentle.

 “It’s nothing,” he insisted.

 Clarke sized him up.  “You applied for that job at Arkadia,” she said, and it wasn’t a question.

 Bellamy pretended to look for his ride.  “It’s a promotion,” he said lamely.

 “It’s two hours away.”  Bellamy shrugged and Clarke crossed her arms.  “So you’re leaving?” she said, and he fought down a surge of annoyance at the fact that she sounded upset.  “Bellamy, you can’t just leave.”

 “Of course I can,” he said between gritted teeth.  

 “No, you can’t.”  She crossed her arms and his jaw tensed even further.

 “I can if you can marry that jackass,” he said, and the words were out of his mouth before he could stop himself.

 “Don’t say that,” she snapped.

 Bellamy swung to face her, every single thing he’d ever felt for her seeming to bubble over at once. “Clarke, he _cheated_ on you.”

 “It was complicated,” she protested but she wouldn’t meet his eyes.  “And what do you care?”

 “You know why I care.”

 His words hung in the air and Clarke took a sharp intake of breath.  “Bellamy—”

 His shoulders slumped.  “Never mind,” he said, and headlights pulled into the parking lot.  His ride was here, and next week he wouldn’t work in this office anymore.  It was a shitty way to walk away from his best friend, but maybe it was for the best.  She was going to marry Finn and he was going to try to forget about her, because what else was there to do?  He held up a hand and the car turned towards them.

 “Bellamy, please,” she said in a broken whisper and whatever resolve he had shattered.

 He spun and caught her face in his hands and kissed her, pressing her back against the wall.  The car arrived but Clarke’s hands were in his hair and she was kissing him back and that was all that mattered in the world, but then he broke away and saw the pain in her eyes and he knew what he had to do.  “I’m sorry,” he rasped.

 And turned and walked away.


	31. Bingo Night II

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Because a lot of people wanted more of Bingo Night.

 Timing was never his strong suit.

 Bellamy had realized he was in love with his coworker the week before she got engaged.  He kissed her the last day they worked together and found out Clarke had called off the engagement three weeks after he left town because the universe hated him.

 He’d done his best to move on anyway, because she had his number and she didn’t call and he knew what that meant.  And for awhile, it worked.  Gina was cute and funny and into him and single, and it was nice to be with someone instead of pining after them from afar.  There wasn’t any drama, just nice nights on the couch with a bottle of wine and laughter.

 But because the universe had it out for him, no sooner had he and Gina gotten to a good place than the Polis and Arkadia branches were merged.  Gina took the buyout and then and he was right back where he’d started— at a desk six yards from Clarke, massively and impossibly in love.  

 He could manage it just fine most days— he had years of practice, after all— but when Wallace threw one of his ridiculous and mandatory parties his thin veneer of control would crack.  Clarke would snort into her gin and tonic and he’d be seized with a desire to kiss her, so it was best if he just stayed away.  

 He waited until everyone was absorbed in their drinks to grab his jacket and slip out.  He was just two steps from his car when the office door opened behind him.  “You’re not supposed to leave until you’ve played at least two rounds of Uno,” Clarke called.

 Bellamy smiled in spite of himself.  “Somehow, I think I’ll manage to not get fired.”

 “Come on, I was planning on using a draw four on you specifically.  You’ve gotta give me a chance to at least do that,” Clarke wheedled.

 “There’s no guarantee you’d even get that card,” he said and turned around.  Clarke was standing right in front of him, closer than they’d been since the night he kissed her.

 “I have my ways,” she said with a grin.

 “That’s called cheating.”

 “That’s called strategy.  And maybe some cheating,” she replied.

 He felt his own smile fade.  “I should go,” he said quietly.

 “Why?”  

  _Because I kissed you and then you called off your engagement and never called me_. _Because it’s obvious you don’t have the same feelings I have for you.  Because this is hopeless and it’s better if I just leave._   “Because,” he said instead.  “I...I just have to.”

 Clarke sobered.  “I was so glad when you came back,” she said in a tiny voice.  “I missed you.  Don’t go.  Not yet, anyway.”

 “I have to,” he said again.  “Just...let me go, okay?”

 His words landed on her and she set her jaw.  “Never,” she said fiercely, and then _she_ was kissing _him_ and maybe the universe hated him and maybe his timing had never been right, but for once everything fell into place.

 


	32. Gorgeous Ladies of Wrestling

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> An anon asked for a GLOW au and I was kinda drunk.

“So you don’t mind it?  Being the bad guy?”

Bellamy laughed and wiped his forehead with his arm.  “Not at all.  It’s it’s about giving a good show, not really about me.  Plus, crowds love to hate you, you know?”

 Clarke leaned back against the ropes.  “Not really, no.  They boo you, right? Doesn’t that suck?”

 He smiled again and Clarke looked away because somehow, looking at him smiling was like looking straight at the sun.  “They do, but that’s part of the fun. And I get it. You can’t root for someone unless there’s someone to root against.”

 “And that’s you.” 

“And that’s me, princess.”  He’d started calling her that the first day of practice and she’d hated it, but this time when he said it it didn’t feel like an epithet.  It felt fond; warm.  Like her cheeks when he smiled at her like that.

“But I can’t be the face if I can’t win a fight,” she said, regaining her focus.  “So I should probably work on that.”

“Probably.  You were close on the hold earlier— want to start with that?”

 Clarke nodded and walked back into the ring, standing with her feet slightly apart.  Bellamy came up behind her and put his arm around her neck.  It looked tight but there wasn’t any pressure on her throat, and that was the point: to make it look real without it  _being_  real.  She was starting to get the hang of it, she thought. 

“Okay, left leg forward, right leg back,” Bellamy said in her ear.  She liked the way his breath tickled her neck but she shrugged it off because they were practicing now and she could think about that— and his shoulders, and his voice, and the way he felt against her back— later.  Clarke shifted her feet accordingly and put her hands around his forearm.  “Now spin and duck,” he coached.

 Clarke did as he told her, moving out of the way at the last second as he dove over her shoulder and landed on his back with a shuddering jolt.  “Wait, was that— was that it?” she asked.

Bellamy grinned up at her from the floor of the ring.  “That was it.  You want to try my part now, princess?”

Clarke held her hand out to him and helped him up, unable to stop the proud smile on her face. “You bet your ass I do.”


	33. Very Bad Things (Raven/Roan)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> @reblogginhood asked for "(202): I did something very bad. More specifically, my boss" for either bellarke or ice mechanic and I got greedy and did both. This chapter is ice mechanic, the next is bellarke.

Raven eased herself out from under his arm and reached for her purse.  She’d dropped it near the nightstand, if she remembered correctly, but his bedroom was pitch dark and she couldn’t remember exactly where.  Her fingers brushed the zipper and she pulled it closer.  The phone’s flashlight would probably be too bright but she could use the dim blue light of her screen to find her clothes and sneak out.

 Roan probably wouldn’t care if she just turned on the light and left, but she was trying to slip out before he figured out who she was.  Or more accurately, who she worked for.

Time was of the essence but she opened up her messages anyway and tapped out a quick one to Clarke.

_Raven Reyes_

_1:12am_

_I did something very bad._

_Raven Reyes_

_1:12am_

_More specifically, my boss_

If anyone would understand it was Clarke, who was three months into an attempt to seduce her boss-slash-work-nemesis.  Raven didn’t fully understand that whole mess, but she was sure Clarke would be a sympathetic ear.

_Clarke Griffin_

_1:12am_

_WAIT YOU HAD SEX WITH NIA GLAZER I NEED SOME CONTEXT_

_Clarke Griffin_

_1:12am_

_And if you meant Sinclair, same question_

Raven found her bra and hooked it behind her back before responding.

_Raven Reyes_

_1:13am_

_NO_

_Raven Reyes_

_1:13am_

_Roan.  Nia’s son.  I gotta go now but I’ll fill you in later if you fill me in on your boss fucking plot._

_Clarke Griffin_

_1:13am_

_It’s not a plot and I should have news for you on that front soon._

Raven grinned and located her underwear. Getting that on without shaking the bed was tricky and her pants posed the same problem, but then all that she had left was her shirt.

“I can call you a car, if you want,” Roan said.  Raven grimaced, her back to him, and he sat up to he sweep her hair over her shoulder.  He kissed the nape of her neck, his hand skimming down her arm.  She liked the feel of his beard against her skin; soft and rough at once.  “There’s no need to sneak out.”

 When Raven had run into him in the bar she’d known exactly who he was.  Most people at Azgeda Biotech did, because Roan was being groomed to take over from his mother some day.  He’d come through her lab exactly once— he worked in legal, not in development— but he was hard to forget, with that ridiculous hair and even more ridiculous clothes.  But despite all of that she’d let him buy her a drink, and just said  _engineer_  when he asked what she did.  Those were a dime a dozen in Silicon Valley and he didn’t press her further and initially, all she wanted was a free drink or two from the asshole family who signed her paychecks.  But she found herself charmed in spite of everything, liking his dry sense of humor and the low rumble of his voice even more.

 But still, she was pretty sure he’d be pissed to find out she knew he was her boss so stealth was the name of the game.  “I’ve got Uber, it’s fine,” she said dismissively and reached for her shirt.

 “At least use Lyft; Uber’s board is a bunch of assholes,” he said wryly.

 “Of course you know them,” she said without thinking.  She realized what she’d done and hastened to cover it up.  “I mean, look at your place— you’ve gotta be loaded.”

 Roan reached for the light on the nightstand and then laid back down, his arm draped over his eyes to shield them from the glare.  “By the way, you should ask for a raise.”

 Raven stopped snapping her brace on and whipped around.  “What did you say?”

 Roan looked at her mildly.  “You should ask for a raise.  My mom would pay just about anything to keep you.”

 “I don’t— what?”

 He propped himself up on his elbow.  “Come on, enough of the game,” he said with a dark grin.  “I know who you are and you know who I am.”

 “And who am I?”

 “You’re Raven fucking Reyes; the best goddamn engineer Azgeda biotech has ever seen,” he said, leaning over to kiss her shoulder again.  “And a damn good fuck.”

 Raven fought a losing battle against her grin.  “And you’re sure I know who you are?”

 “We met last year and I’m a hard man to forget,” he said with a wink.

 Raven laughed and snapped her brace into place.  “You’re the cockiest jackass I think I’ve ever met, you know that?”

 “Yes, that’s probably true,” he said, and this time she was the one who leaned forward to kiss him.  “So did you want the car, or did you want to stay?”

Raven chewed the inside of her lip and then kissed him back.

In the end, she decided to stay.


	34. Very Bad Things (Bellamy/Clarke)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In the same "Clarke and Raven fuck their bosses" universe as chapter 33 and combined with an anon prompt for bellarke and fireworks.

Clarke hadn’t been to a firework display in years.  She’d been too busy throughout most of law school and last year she was knee deep in studying for the bar in July, and anyway, it just wasn’t really her thing.  But the firm had a perfect view of the river from the offices on the east side, so they let anyone who wanted to watch from the building.

 Clarke had only decided to come when she realized Bellamy would be there.  She didn’t exactly have a plan but she wasn’t going to fuck Bellamy by staying home, so here she was.  

At the fireworks, wearing a dress that could charitably be as “short” and probably more accurately described as “microscopic.”

 The rest of the partners weren’t there, thankfully, but Junior Partner and All-Around Pain In Her Ass Bellamy Blake was there, lingering around the edges without ever joining in.  She wasn’t sure exactly why he hated her, but he’d clearly loathed her from the day she walked through the doors.

 But Clarke was no shrinking violet so she just hated him right back, albeit with the added complication of sort of wanting to fuck him.  And nearly three months ago while they worked late on the Mount Weather brief, she’d realized he wanted to fuck her too.  He’d been standing behind her, squinting over her shoulder, and then his eyes darted towards her chest.  It had been subtle, so quick she wouldn’t have noticed if she hadn’t looked over at him just then, but she’d seen his eyes darken and the way he licked his lips.

 So she decided then and there she’d get him to fuck her.  To win.  Or get even.

 Or whatever.

 It was complicated, but she was pretty sure getting him to fuck her would feel like victory.  Bellamy definitely checked her out when she got off the elevator, and she helped herself to a beer from the table near the break room.  People were milling about as the sky outside darkened and he caught her eye.

 Her mouth went dry at the way he was looking at her.  Bellamy flicked his gaze towards his office and strolled off, nonchalant.  Clarke waited three minutes, leaning against the wall with her beer, and then followed.

 She locked his office door behind her and leaned back.  “You wanted to see me, sir?”

 Bellamy was facing the wall of windows, his back to her.  “Cut the shit, princess.”

 “I’ll stop calling you sir when you stop calling me princess,” she replied archly.

 Outside, the first firework exploded.  It was yellow gold and hissed as it fell back to the ground, sending a flash of light through his spacious office.  “Fair enough, Clarke,” he said, and she clenched her thighs together at the way her name sounded in his mouth.

 Oh god, this was  _ridiculous_.  Bellamy glanced over his shoulder as she sauntered towards him and stopped just off to his side.  A purple firework  _cracked_  over the river.  “So what is it, Bellamy?”  

 He closed his eyes when she said his name and she felt a surge of arousal at the fact that she held just as much power over him as he did over her.  “This is a dangerous game, you and me,” he said quietly.  Outside the fireworks popped and fizzled in quick succession, blanketing his office in color.

 “Dangerous for who?”

 He scoffed.  “Me, mostly.”  He stepped behind her and moved her hair off her neck.  “Your move, princess,” he growled into her ear.

 Clarke shifted so her ass was pressed against his groin.  He was hard and getting harder, so she tipped her head to the side and bared her neck.  “I’m waiting,” she purred.

 “Fuck,” he muttered and banded his arm around her waist, pulling her flush against him.  His teeth scraped the shell of her ear and she shivered.  “Is this what you want?” he asked, dragging her dress up around her hips.  Clarke dropped her head back against his shoulder and whined when his fingers found her folds.  “God, I should have guessed,” he said when he found she wasn’t wearing panties and thrust two fingers into her.

 She hadn’t intended on kissing him— this was about seduction and triumph and sex, not lips and tongues and shared breath— but she couldn’t help herself.  She rolled her head to the side and found his mouth, and in that moment she realized she’d lost.

 And she didn’t even care.


	35. Summer at the sculpture garden

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> An anon asked for summer 2017 bellarke.

The Summer Day Camp through the Parks Board was basically a bare bones day care.  Other places had facilities, enrichment lessons, and organized activities, whereas they just had a multipurpose room in case it rained and Monty’s ability to turn just about anything into a physics lesson.  That usually kept about half the kids interested and Bellamy would figure out something for the rest of them— either a game of capture the flag if it was nice out or a story in the other corner of the multipurpose room if it wasn’t.  It wasn’t the fanciest day camp on record, but they did okay.

And as long as they told the parents a week in advance and it didn’t involve a bus, they could take the kids on a field trip.  The sculpture garden was only three blocks from their park and admission was free, so Bellamy usually planned to take the kids at least a few times each summer.  He wasn’t an expert at art appreciation, but it had to provide a little more educational value than yet another scavenger hunt.

Getting the kids there was a bit of a challenge, since kids were generally not the best at walking at the same pace and crossing the street carefully.  Monty took the lead with the older kids and Bellamy followed in the rear, holding hands with their two youngest charges to make sure neither darted into traffic.  But once they walked through the gates of the sculpture garden (two bright red steel beams) the kids spilled out across the grassy lawn with excited yelps.  The garden was completely fenced in so he and Monty let them roam free, each of them keeping to opposite sides of the garden for maximum supervision.

Most of their campers were well behaved, if a little rambunctious, so Bellamy was surprised when a girl about his age in a bright blue shirt that had _garden_ _  docent  _ stamped across the chest marched over to him.  “You’re with the campers, right?” she said, a little more testily than strictly necessary.

“I am,” he confirmed.

“Some of them are climbing on a piece and won’t get down,” she snapped.  “Maybe you could supervise them a little better?”  She was all righteous fury and indignation and Bellamy never took well to being ordered around, especially by someone who was probably just  _ volunteering _ because they didn’t actually need the money from a summer job.

Bellamy followed where she was pointing and snorted.  “That’s literally a jungle gym, princess.”  He'd told them at least a dozen times before coming that they weren't allowed on the sculptures but he didn't appreciate her tone.

“It’s a sculpture that has half a dozen ‘don’t touch’ signs on it.  And it’s not just a jungle gym, it’s a meditation on the fleeting nature of childhood.”

“You can’t be serious.”

“That’s what the artist statement said,” she replied, suddenly fighting a smile.

On second thought, she was kind of cute, so he relented.  “Hey, get down from there,” he hollered at his campers and the guilty parties immediately climbed down.

“They listen like that all the time?”

_ This is literally the first time that’s ever happened, _  he thought.  “Usually,” he told her, and flashed her his best smile.

She beamed back, all their initial tension dissipating.  “Clarke, by the way.”

“I’m Bellamy.  We bring these kids here a few times a summer.  Hope that’s okay.”

“Then I’ll see you around,” she said, and she glanced back over her shoulder as she walked away.

Bellamy and Monty brought the kids three more times that summer and each time, Bellamy lucked out and found her working.  The last time he even stumbled upon her sitting underneath a tree with a few of the older campers, giving them a short art history lesson while the kids watched her, rapt.

He found her on facebook that night--Clarke was a pretty uncommon name, after all-- but of course she went to an east coast school, so Bellamy wrote her off as an idle crush.  But she accepted his request immediately, and when school started in the fall she surprised him by sometimes tagging him in photos, usually of incredibly stupid art.  Each time made him smile, but still.

Futile crush.  That’s all.

The next summer Bellamy reapplied for his job, even though Monty would be doing an internship for an engineering firm.  He hoped his new coworker wouldn’t suck too badly, but in the end he liked the kids enough to figure it didn’t matter if they did.

The first day of work he got to the park early to set up the multipurpose room and for a moment, he thought he was hallucinating.  Clarke was standing on a chair in the corner, tacking a giant piece of butcher paper to the wall.  She looked over her shoulder and grinned.

“Hey,” she said, a little shy.

“You’re working here?” he replied.  He was kind of dumbfounded and more than a little nervous, to be honest.

“I talked the head of the Parks department into letting me set up an arts program through this,” she said, climbing down.  “Hope that’s okay.”

“Probably slightly less dangerous than Monty’s ‘everything is flammable if you believe in yourself’ lessons,” he said with a grin.

Clarke smiled back and Bellamy privately wondered how he was  _ ever  _ going to make it through the summer.

 


	36. A night by the campfire

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A birthday present for the delightful @samsjazz!

Madi snuffled and rolled over in her bedroll.  The fire crackled and Bellamy came back from the rover, his gun slung carelessly across his back.  “How’s camp?” she asked, keeping her voice low so as to not wake Madi. **  
**

“Impatient,” he chuckled.  He rested the rifle against the side of the tree and sat down.  “But Octavia and Kane are holding it together.  Kane says your mom once again requests that we finish the scouting mission as quickly as possible.”

“You’d think I’d been separated from her for six years or something,” Clarke said with a hint of humor.  She knew it was hard for them, her mom and Bellamy, thinking she was dead all those years, and she tried to temper it for them.  She wasn’t sure it was always appreciated, but it was the only thing she could think to do.

Bellamy’s mouth quirked up.  “At least no one’s hunting us this time,” he said drily, and Clarke nudged him with her shoulder.  “After tomorrow we’re gonna hit the rocks that the rover can’t handle— you’re sure she’s up for the climb?”  

Clarke had felt uneasy being separated from Madi when the scouting mission was proposed and it had been Bellamy who suggested she come along.   _All we’re facing is wildlife and I think she can handle that,_  he’d told the Council.  Clarke grinned at Bellamy’s question.  “The bigger question is if you are,” she replied.

Bellamy huffed.  In the few months they had been been back on the ground he’d grown protective of Madi— almost more protective of her than Clarke herself.  “She’s gonna scale a goddamn mountain without ropes, isn’t she?” she grumbled.

She laid her head on his shoulder.  “And that’s if we’re lucky.”

Bellamy huffed again, this time more like a laugh, and draped his arm across her back.  He turned his face and kissed her head absently.  “You should get some sleep.  I can take first watch,” he said into her hair.  He rubbed her shoulder fondly and a warm, soft feeling spread through her chest.

Clarke shrugged and snuggled closer to him until her back was against his chest, his arms around her and her leg stretched out on the log.  “I’m good right here,” she sighed happily.  She felt him smile and press a kiss to the back of her head.   In front of them the fire hissed and popped and above them, the stars stretched on forever.


	37. Out for a walk

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> An anon asked for Bellarke at kabby's wedding and my brain went in an only-vaguely-related direction. Sorry 'bout that.

“Come on Bear, hurry up,” Clarke sighed.  She sank down on a park bench while her mother’s dog walked in careful, deliberate circles.  The sun had set hours ago but the stickiness of the day remained, clinging to her skin.  A few fireflies blinked around her, but otherwise she was alone. **  
**

It was always weird being back in Arkadia.  It didn’t really feel like home anymore. Her mom and Marcus had bought a new house just before they got married but it was more than that— it was the fact that places she remembered were gone, that the streets seemed smaller, shabbier, _emptier_  than she remembered.  But her mom and Marcus were on their honeymoon so here she was, waiting for her mom’s dog to take a shit so she could go back to a house that was too big and too foreign to be completely comfortable.

Bear stopped circling and sniffed a spot three times.  “Bear, seriously,” she groaned.

“That’s a really appropriate name for that dog.  Is he part bear?  He looks like it.”  Clarke jumped out of her skin at the voice and turned around.  

She blinked, her brain taking a second to catch up.  “Bellamy  _Blake?_ ”

He smiled and she wasn’t sure she’d ever seen him do that before.  He’d been a few years older than her in school and most of her memories of him were of him scowling in the corner, arms crossed as he leaned against a locker.  They hadn’t ever spoken, not that she could remember, but she knew who he was.  Everyone did, really.  Hard not to with a face like that.

His smile was a sight to behold, quite frankly.  “Sorry,” he said sheepishly.  “Didn’t mean to startle you.”

“You should wear a bell,” she said drily.

“My sister would have a field day with that one so I’ll pass,” he said, matching her tone.  “What are you doing back here?”

“Dog sitting,” she said with a wave at Bear, who was finally doing his business.  “You?”

“Mom’s selling the house, so O and I came to help clean stuff out.  I’m mostly throwing away high school notebooks while mom and O get into fights about furniture.”  He sat down on the bench next to her like they were old friends and it should have been weird, but it wasn’t.  It was like picking up a conversation in the middle of where you left off.

Bear was preoccupied with sniffing around a tree so Clarke decided to let him rather than head back like she’d planned.  It’d been lonely the past couple of days with only Bear and her phone for company.  “It’s weird, right?” she asked.  “Being back here.”

“Tell me about it,” he sighed.  “Not much has changed, but it feels like…everything has.”

“And the Dairy Queen on Main is gone.  It’s a Panera now.”

Bellamy clucked his tongue in disappointment.  “So sad,” he teased.  “To see a pillar of the franchise community be replaced by a different franchise.”

Clarke laughed and nudged him with her shoulder even as a corner of her brain pointed out they were  _basically strangers_.  “Whatever, I had great memories of that place.  That’s where Raven and I dumped Finn.”

“Even I remember that one,” he said and stole a look at her out of the corner of her eye.  Clarke smiled back and wondered if you could literally feel sparks even without touching the other person.

Of course, Bear chose that moment to trot back over to her and wag his tail expectantly.  “I should probably go,” she said and tipped her head at the dog.  She got up and fished out the plastic bag for picking up Bear’s poop, which was hands down her least favorite part of this whole thing.

“Yeah, me too.  Any longer and Octavia will come out hunting for me.”

“Don’t you mean looking?”

“You’ve met my sister, right?”

Clarke grinned.  “I’ll see you around, Bellamy.” 

“Count on it,” he replied with a wink.


	38. Out for a walk (II)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Honestly, I just felt like writing a little more.

It wasn’t until she saw him walking towards the park with his hands in his pockets that Clarke realized she’d been hoping Bellamy would show up.  Just like the night before he sat down next to her, like it was an arranged meeting between old friends.

And the strangest thing was, it really felt like it.  He was so easy to talk to, so familiar despite everything, that Clarke found herself looking forward to seeing him again the next night.  He was waiting for her that time and ran his hand through his hair uncomfortably when she approached.  “Is this weird?  This is probably weird,” he said with a nervous laugh.

“If it’s weird then I’m weird too, because I got so bored I almost considered walking over to your house this afternoon,” she said and plopped down next to him while Bear began his laborious process of choosing the exact right spot to take a shit.  

“If you had, you could have refereed a three way fight over a lamp,” he chuckled.

“Wouldn’t have been fair; I’d have taken your side,” she said without thinking.  A blush crept up her neck but Bellamy was grinning at her so broadly she decided she didn’t care.

They talked until Bear was tugging on his leash and then they stood and talked some more.  When Bear got impatient and she had no choice but to start walking he fell into step beside her, and when they reached her mom’s new house they wound up talking in the driveway for another ten minutes until she invited him in for a drink.

She wasn’t  _ surprised _ when he kissed her, but she was surprised by how badly she wanted him.  The moment their lips met she forgot how to breathe, the spell only breaking when he pulled back to ask where her bedroom was.

“Upstairs,” she gasped and drew his face back down for another kiss.

“Okay, it’s not— like, it’s not— it’s a regular bedroom, right? Not your childhood one?” he managed.

Clarke laughed and tangled their fingers together.  “No, I expect you to fuck me while Mr. Fluffy Bear watches,” she deadpanned, and then kissed his cheek.  “New house, remember? It’s basically a guest bedroom,” she assured him.

Bellamy broke into a smile and slung her over his shoulder while she squealed with laughter, but by the time they had shed their clothes their easy rapport had been replaced by a quiet, urgent need.  She fell asleep with his arm heavy around her waist and his breath fanning the back of her neck, feeling more at home in that moment than she had all week.

_ Brrriinnnggg.   _ The tinny ring of a phone burrowed through her eardrums and Clarke stirred to find Bellamy sprawled on his stomach, looking bleary.  “I think that’s yours,” she said hoarsely, and he rolled to the side of the bed with a groan and found his phone.

“Yeah,” he barked, silencing it mid-ring as he picked up.  “Yeah, no, I’m around I just— O, it’s fine,” he said.  “I’m coming home now, I promise.”

Bellamy hung up and set his phone on her nightstand.  “I take it you’ve been missed?” Clarke said, wishing more than anything he could stay.

“Yeah, I should probably head back.  We’re taking the first few loads of things to Goodwill today and it’s not like they can lift the couch on their own.”  He sat up and Clarke watched him get dressed with something akin to longing.

She pulled on a robe to walk him to the door, but just like last night it was like he couldn’t bear to tear himself away from her.  They lingered, exchanging long, slow kisses and then laughing at themselves before kissing again.  His phone rang and he sighed, silencing it.  “It’s O again— I should really get going,” he said.  “But when I’m back in DC, I’ll give you a call, yeah?”

“You’d better,” Clarke said, and kissed him one last time before she let him go.

  
  



	39. Bargaining

“Jasper’s party is tonight,” Clarke reminded him.   **  
**

Bellamy topped off her travel mug and then poured the rest of the coffee into his own.  “I’ll be there right after Debate practice ends,” he promised and kissed her cheek.  “I’ll hope for nothing more exciting for you than a couple of broken bones.”

Clarke laughed and fished her car keys out of the bowl.  “Fingers crossed,” she said, and then with another chaste kiss she was out the door.

It was a day like any other— mundane and uneventful, but comfortable.  Jasper’s birthday party at the restaurant, followed by Clarke falling asleep nestled in his arms.  The next day was much the same, and the next, and the next.  Bellamy couldn’t remember ever feeling so happy or so safe, so content to simply wake up each morning next to her and fall asleep with her each night.  

He was leaving work when his phone beeped with a voicemail.  He pressed it to his ear and was rewarded with a burst of static and Clarke’s voice, muffled as if from a great distance.  “Three years...” she said faintly.  The message went on, just disjointed bursts of words.  He couldn’t make heads or tails of it, and when he got home Clarke shrugged.

“Must have been a glitch; an old one popping back up.  Maybe from our three year anniversary?” she said, and he didn’t have a better explanation, so he nodded and pulled her to him for a long, languid kiss.

He was happy.  

A problem with his phone was nothing.

Three days later— or maybe a week, it was hard to remember, exactly— he got another strange voicemail.  More static, more jumbles of words and phrases that made no sense.  “Madi...the bunker...rubble...home.”  Clarke seemed more puzzled by this one, but when she pronounced his phone haunted he couldn’t help but laugh.  She laughed into his mouth and then her hand found his cock and he forgot all about cryptic messages and a phone that needed to be replaced.

The third message was harder to ignore.  Clarke sounded upset, like she’d been crying.  “Five years,” she kept saying, over and over again.  “Five years,” and “you said you’d come back.”

Clarke didn’t even look up from the pot of spaghetti.  “Just get a new one. Clearly that one’s broken,” she said.

“Pay no attention to it.” A brunette he had never seen before appeared in the corner of the kitchen, her head tilted and her hands clasped in front of her.

Bellamy jumped.  “Who the fuck are you?” he said, but when Clarke looked up, she’d disappeared.  

“What’s wrong?” Clarke asked, concern written all over her face.

“Didn’t you see her?”

“See who?”

“That woman.  The woman who—” Clarke silenced him with a kiss and pulled his forehead down to rest on hers.

“I think we need a vacation,” she said, running her hands up and down his arms.  “You’re stressed.”

Bellamy breathed her in and nodded, so relieved to have her in his arms he decided he didn’t care he was hallucinating.

Clarke on the beach was a sight to behold.  She loved the sun and the water and he loved the way she looked in her blue bikini, sunglasses pushed up into her hair while she laughed.  The sand stuck to his back and she leaned down to kiss him, her hair falling around them like a curtain.  She smelled like salt and sand and sex, and his hands roamed her body because it was just the two of them and the waves.  There no one else to worry about, no wars to win, no battles to fight.

Static blared in his ear.  “...if you’re alive...2,199 days...praimfaiya...”  Bellamy slammed on his brakes. The brunette was back, sitting calmy in the passenger seat and completely unperturbed by the fact that she’d appeared out of thin air.  The last thing he remembered was the beach, Clarke’s lips on his and her body wrapped around him desperately.  But now he was driving to work, cars behind him honking frantically.  

“Pay no attention to that,” the woman said calmly.  Bellamy stared at her and she stared back, unblinking.  There was something familiar about her movements and the robotic way she spoke, but he was sure he had never seen her before that moment in the kitchen.  It called to mind Raven, somehow, but Raven Reyes was fierce and warm, not cold and calculating.  

The honking grew to a crescendo and he started driving again, stealing looks at the unnaturally still woman in his car.  “Who are you?”

“I’m no one, Bellamy,” she said in what was clearly supposed to be a soothing voice.

More static.  “Where is that coming from?” he asked.  He missed a turn to to the school and then suddenly realized he hadn’t— it was two blocks away, just like always.

“It’s nothing,” she replied.  “Just a relic of the past.”

“...safe for you to come back for over a year now.  Why haven’t you?” Clarke asked, her voice loud in his ear.  Bellamy jerked the wheel and his car went up over the curb, slamming into a tree.  Suddenly new memories flooded him, of driving through ash in a hazmat suit; of Clarke smiling weakly at him; of crashing into a tree and a fierce fight with arrows and fists.

None of it made sense, but then all of it did.

The dropship.  The grounders.  Mount Weather.  A hug so tight he thought his heart would break, and then more pain, more heartbreak, more battles and scars and wars.  A wave of radiation sweeping inexorably towards them all.  Clarke was beside him for all of it, until she wasn’t.

“I still have hope,” Clarke said, and the world around Bellamy melted away.

Metal walls replaced trees and sun, silence replaced the rumble of cars and chatter of children walking to school.  An engine hummed and Bellamy sat up, back on the Ark.  Clarke’s voice sounded from the radio, clear and steady and _alive._  “The rest of the world basically sucks,” she said, and Bellamy’s lips curved into a grin in spite of everything.

He blinked and was back in his car, the engine smoking and the brunette sitting placidly next to him.  The sun poured in, impossibly bright, and she tilted her head curiously.  “Leave it,” she ordered him.  “This is better.”

Bellamy felt like he was swimming through quicksand.  The world kept flickering back and forth— metal and silence and space, sunshine and cacophony and earth, one into another.  The only constant was her.

ALIE.

That was who it had to be.  And that was why he didn’t recognize her but remembered her mannerisms. He had seen them before, but from Raven that day at Niylah’s.  “Clarke’s alive?” he asked ALIE.

The ark solidified around him once again and he touched his cheek, finding it full of stubble.  ALIE clasped her hands.  “She is.  But likely not for long.  The odds of surviving are—”

Bellamy ran for the radio but the world shifted and he was back on the ground in a life he had imagined but never really lived.  He was in the bedroom he shared with Clarke, her clothes strewn across the floor and her scent lingering like she had just left the room.  

He rounded on ALIE.  “Let me go,” he demanded.

“It’s better here,” ALIE said instead.  “I can make you happy.  No more fear, no more loss.”

“Clarke. is. alive,” he growled.  “What did you do?  How did you do this?”

She waved her hand.  “I was locked up here for months before you came.  Re-engineering the algae farms with my code was child’s play.”

“Let me go,” he ordered again.  “Clarke’s down there.  I can’t—”

“You can’t ever have the life you want down there,” ALIE countered.  They were back on the ark, the earth hanging just outside the window.  “Stay here, and you can.  Stay here, and you can live in peace with Clarke by your side. That’s what you want, isn’t it?  If you go down, she could already be dead before you arrive.  Could die the next day.  You could die in the attempt.  The outcomes are poor, no matter what.  But I can offer you happiness, Bellamy Blake.  Happiness, and Clarke.”

A lever appeared before him.  It was identical to the lever in Mount Weather, the lever that made him into a monster.  A sick joke, he figured, and set his jaw.  ALIE looked at the lever and something like fear flashed behind her eyes.  “I pull this, you disappear, right?” he asked.

“I do.  And so does that life.  You were happy there, Bellamy.  Let me make you happy.”

Bellamy looked out at the ground.  Clarke was there, waiting for him, but ALIE was right— she might not make it until he could get back.  He might not make it back.  And even if they both survived, there was no guarantee of happiness or peace.  It was uncertainty and pain, and the life he had in the City of Light was predictable and comfortable.  It was easy in a way Bellamy’s life had never been and never would be, if he pulled the lever.  His heart yearned for that life, for the peace he found with Clarke.  He reached out but his hand wavered, remembering how good it felt to fall asleep, safe by her side.

“Nevermind, I see you,” Clarke said. The hope in her voice wrapped around his heart, reminding him of who he was and what he wanted.  

And he pulled the damn lever.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've wanted to write this since the finale, okay? Don't murder me.


	40. alive and back from the dead

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Based on anon requests for a military bellarke au and second chances bellarke.

If he was honest with himself, Bellamy chose this bar on purpose.  This bar and this day, because he missed her.  He shouldn’t, but he did.

And of course she would already be there, her blonde hair bright in the otherwise dingy room.  It was barely half full, with a handful men and women from the base talking over the music or playing pool in the back corner.

But Clarke was just sitting on a stool with a whiskey in front of her, staring blankly into space.  Bellamy deliberately took a seat as far from her as he could— it was the least he could do, aside from leave, and he couldn’t quite bring himself to do that— but no sooner had he ordered a rum and coke than the three infantrymen between them paid their tab and left.

She glanced at him and paled.  His heart plunged and his stomach roiled, even though that reaction was no less than he deserved.  But god, he missed her.  He missed everything about her, from her smile to her lousy sense of humor and the fact that she took up way more than her fair share of a narrow bunk.

And that was why he came here today— to her neighborhood, a year to the day from the first time he kissed her.  Clarke probably didn’t remember that, he knew.  He was the sentimental one of the two of them, the one who bothered to remember dates and made sure he saved her extra candy from Octavia’s care package for her birthday.  Marking this sort of anniversary was his thing, not hers.

Not that she hadn’t cared about him.  She had, and he knew exactly how much the day a bomb went off and shrapnel grazed his arm.  Clarke was by his side within seconds and he had had to wave her off so she could go see to Murphy.    _I couldn’t help it,_ she’d told him in his private quarters that night.    _I fucked up, Bellamy.  I knew you were fine and every ounce of medic training inside of me told me I needed to triage and you were low-risk, but I couldn’t.  I couldn’t go to anyone else until I knew you were okay ._

They ended it a week later.  It was too much of a risk, and the unit came first for both of them.  They had known they were playing with fire the first time he kissed her, his body singing with adrenaline after a firefight.    _It’s just once_ , they had reasoned that night.  And then,  _it’s just sex_.  And then for six months they told themselves  _we can handle this, it won’t put anyone in danger_.  But then it had, and they had to face the music.

And then three months later, Bellamy did the unforgivable.  

Clarke looked at him again and guilt gnawed on his ribs.  He finished his drink, tossed down a ten, and pushed the stool back with a loud scrape.  He walked out without looking back.

“Bellamy, wait,” she called when he was halfway through the parking lot, and his heart stopped.  It had been so long since he heard her voice, and even longer since he had heard it with such  _longing_.

He turned around to find her standing in front of him, chin lifted in defiance.  “Did you come here to see me?”

Bellamy chewed on his lower lip and looked away.  He didn’t know how to answer her.    _What answer would hurt less?_  he wanted to ask, but instead he just shrugged.  “I shouldn’t have come,” he settled on.

“Answer me,” she said.  “Tell me the truth.”

Her eyes locked onto his and he knew he couldn’t lie.  “I wanted to be close to you,” he admitted.

Clarke let out a choked sob and grabbed his shirt in both of her hands, rolling up onto her toes and kissing him so fiercely he was knocked off balance.  Instinct took over, like it always did with her, and he kissed her back, messy and needy.  He could taste the whiskey she had been drinking and smell her shampoo, and all of it combined felt like too much and not enough.  “Fuck me,” she begged.  “Please, just— just one more time.” The words roared through him like a freight train.  He cupped his hands around her face and nodded, searching out her lips again.

Never one to waste time, Clarke grabbed him by the arm and towed him along behind her, through the parking lot and past the dumpsters.  Her building was just beyond the next parking lot and she didn’t speak, just looked back occasionally as if to make sure he was still there.  

She slammed the door to her apartment and pinned him against it.  Everything about her was both familiar and foreign, and he knew this was his last chance.  His only opportunity to make up for what he had done.  So he made sure that everywhere he touched her, every single inch of skin and brush of his lips, was an apology and penance.  It was as much for him as for her, because he needed to show her how sorry he was.  To show her he loved her even if he’d destroyed everything.  Her lips were salty when he kissed her. He wasn’t sure if they were her tears or his, but he kissed her again and again until she was falling apart underneath him.

After he came he rolled away, unable to bear the look he knew he would find in her eyes. He put his feet down on the floor and steeled himself.  “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have— I’ll go,” he said.

“Bellamy,” Clarke rasped.  “Look at me.”

But he couldn’t.  He’d spent too long looking back, reliving every moment of that day over and over again.    _Their convoys getting separated.  The explosions.  The firefight.  Radioing for Clarke and getting no response.  Waiting.  Waiting.  Waiting as long as they could.  The crackle of static and Clarke’s voice saying they had to go on ahead, that she would wait for air support but they needed to get out of there._  Bellamy had gone over every detail thousands of times and he knew without a doubt going back for her would have involved more of their people dying.  She’d gotten out eventually, mostly unharmed, but he still regretted it with every breath he took.

Her hand brushed his back.  “Bellamy, please.”

“I left you,” he said quietly.  “I left you behind.”

“You didn’t have a choice.”

“There’s always a choice.”  He stood and quickly stepped into his boxers and then his jeans.  The longer he stayed the more it hurt.  He had to get out before he destroyed them both.  Again.

Clarke pulled a grey shirt over her head and unfolded her legs, and he turned to go.  But before he reached the door she grabbed his forearm and wrenched him around.  “Stop it,” she snapped, and it was a relief to finally hear the anger he deserved leaking into her voice.  “Stop feeling sorry for yourself and look at me.”  He obeyed, but no sooner had his eyes found hers then her gaze softened.  “I told you to go,” she reminded him.  “It was my choice too.”

“I could have—”

“Anything you could have done would have gotten people killed.  That’s why we ended it, remember?”

Against his better judgment Bellamy reached out and curved his hand along her jaw, skimming his thumb across her cheekbone.  “I hate myself for it,” he whispered.

Clarke nuzzled into his palm and tears pricked the corners of his eyes.  “For ending it or for leaving me behind?”

“All of it.”  He looked down and took in her shirt— grey with ARMY written across the chest, but it was too long and the neck was too big to have been issued to her.  He rubbed the material between his fingers and a tear slipped down his cheek.  “So that’s where this one went,” he said, still whispering.

“I couldn’t bring myself to give it back,” she admitted.

“Even after…? I thought you would have burned it.”

“I thought about it,” she said with a sly smile.  “But not because of why you think.  Because you shut me out.”

“I thought it would be easier for you,” he said.  “If you didn’t have to deal with me.”

Clarke brushed away his tear with the back of her knuckle.  “Yeah, well, you were wrong.”

It hurt to see so much love and forgiveness that he didn’t deserve, so he looked away again.  “How can you forgive me?” he asked brokenly.  “I can’t forgive myself.”

“Stay.  Stay and don’t shut me out any more,” she said, swallowing hard.  “Stay, because that forgiveness— it’s already done.”  Clarke enveloped him in a hug and he felt her tears soaking into his skin while his own continued to flow.  He buried his face in her neck and breathed her in and swore to himself, then and there, he’d never leave her again.


	41. Place your bets (II)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A sequel to chapter 28, aka strip poker bellarke.

“We need to revisit the ammo policy,” Clarke announced as she approached Bellamy. **  
**

He turned slowly— too slowly— to look at her, rotating his entire body rather than just his head.  “I can’t cut back any further,” he said.  “What?” he added at her frown.

“What’s with the dramatic turns?”

He shrugged and then immediately grimaced.  “Woke up like this yesterday,” he said with a clenched jaw.

“Back or neck? And wait, you’ve been in pain for two days and didn’t tell me?”

“Back. And I didn’t realize you’d care, princess,” he added lightly.  They hadn’t really addressed their little game in his tent, just went back to their usual mix of sniping and divided responsibilities.  It wasn’t that she wouldn’t care, she just…felt a little weird about the fact that she did.

So she did what she always did in awkward situations and buried it under sarcasm and a brusque attitude instead.  “It’s not gonna do us any good if you can’t move,” she replied.  “Meet me in your tent.”

“You giving me orders?”

“You want to be able to move normally, or no?”

Bellamy cracked a smile and looked away.  “Fine.  Whatever the princess wants.”

Clarke stopped by the dropship to find the salve she had commissioned Jasper to make and put one of the younger delinquents on med duty.  If there were any real emergencies— anything more than a sprain or a minor burn— someone would find her.  Camp wasn’t that big.

Bellamy was lowering himself to his bed with a wince when she entered.  “Shirt off, she said, and he raised an eyebrow.  She waved the hand holding the bottle.  “This helps with the pain but it won’t do anything if I just rub it on your shirt.”

He let out a breath and gathered the hem of his shirt in his hands, clearly bracing himself for lifting his arms over his head.  Clarke took pity on him and knelt down in front of him.  “Here, I’ll help,” she said and gently eased it up.  This was easier than the card game— here, she was a medic and he was a patient.  She could be cold and detached about this, with none of those heated looks that kept resurfacing behind her eyelids whenever she tried to sleep.  Sure, his chest was as broad as she remembered and sure, she still itched to trail her fingers down his stomach, but she could control herself.

“Okay, lay down,” she instructed, and Bellamy gingerly rolled to splay across his stomach.  She had assumed it would be easier to handle without him looking at her, but she still had to give herself a moment to appreciate the play of muscles underneath his warm, golden skin.  She cleared her throat and slung her knee over his hips.  “This okay?” she asked, and he grunted in assent.  “All right, well, this is going to warm up as I apply it, but tell me if you feel anything tingling.”  The leaf they had procured could cause a mild allergic reaction, but so far no one in camp had been affected.

Clarke poured a few drops into her cupped palm and rubbed her hands together.  The moment she touched his back, Bellamy groaned.  “Is that a good or a bad noise?” she asked with a slight smile.  

“Good?” he said into the furs.  She pressed her fingers along his spine and found the knot, a third of the way down and right near his left shoulder blade.  She dug in and he whined.  “It hurts, but…I think it’s good.”

“Did you do something?  Like, do you remember something that would have hurt it, or did it just happen?”

“Just happened,” he said through gritted teeth.  “What does that mean?”

“Means you’re old,” she teased.  “But it’s probably good— just a stiff muscle, not a strain or a slipped disc.”

He moaned again.  “God, that feels good.”  His fingers curled into the pillow and Clarke licked her lips, fighting the sudden, insane urge to kiss the nape of his neck.  She smoothed her hands down lower and found another knot.  She pressed her thumb into it and then leaned down to use her elbow, even though that meant she was closer to the tantalizing expanse of skin.

“Is the salve helping?” she asked and hoped he didn’t notice the quaver in her voice.

“It is,” he sighed.  “It already feels better.”

Clarke smiled proudly and walked her knees back so she could move to his lower back, right where his waist narrowed.  She worked her hands down, the oil slicking his skin, and stopped at his waistband.  Her face heated up and she climbed off of him to get ahold of herself.  “Just changing the angle,” she said brightly, and he lifted his head to turn it and look at her.

“You okay there, princess?”

“Like I said, just changing the angle.”

“Clarke, look at me,” he said lowly.  Her eyes darted to his face and she found him watching her with soft eyes.  Bellamy rolled to his side and she made a noise in protest, but he shook his head.  “I’m fine,” he said, and reached out to catch her wrist.  Her hand was still slick but he turned it over and pressed a kiss to the thin blue veins on the underside of her wrist.

He looked up at her and her breath caught.  She was used to Bellamy’s swagger and had even come to find it endearing, but the vulnerability in his face knocked her completely off balance.  She leaned forward and he cupped her face, pulling her with him as he rolled back onto the bed.  Clarke settled between his legs and studied him, tracing his lower lip with her fingertip.  Slowly she bent her head and found his lips.

Even with her sprawled across him, even with nothing between them but her thin shirt, Bellamy still made a small noise of surprise when she kissed him.  But after that brief moment he responded, one hand curling around the nape of her neck and the other seeking out the bare skin under her shirt.

They’d already been missing for so long they knew they wouldn’t have much time left before someone needed them.  So they fumbled and hurried and Clarke keened into his mouth when he found her clit with his thumb, and she only bothered to shove his pants down to his knees before sinking down onto his cock.  Bellamy tried to sit up and kiss her but she pushed him down with a sly grin.  “Let me,” she purred, and Bellamy dug his fingers into her thighs and urged her on.  She leaned forward, pressing their chests together, and swallowed his cry with her mouth.

She rested her forehead against his and giggled.  “The kids will be looking for us,” she said, and he tucked a lock of hair back behind her ear.

“Let them look,” he said, and kissed her again.


	42. On promises made and kept

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> for bgonemydear, who wanted historical au bellarke as reunited childhood sweethearts.

The train hadn’t finished slowing down when Bellamy hopped off.  It had been years since he had been back to Arkadia— six, as a matter of fact— and already he could tell things were different.  There was a train station, for one.  No more walking to Polis and catching the train there.  There was a bank now too, and soon enough there would be a law firm, too.   **  
**

Bellamy left the station and turned down the main thoroughfare.  His mother and Octavia wouldn’t be expecting him until tomorrow, but he had decided last night he couldn’t wait.  He’d taken an earlier train and would come back for his things with the wagon tomorrow.

Murphy saw him first.  He waved from the porch of the general store and went back to sweeping, a very different man from when Bellamy had left.  He was married now, Octavia said, and far more settled.  The town had changed and the people had too, which he supposed was the general order of things.  He wasn’t the same boy who left.  The Bellamy Blake who had left Arkadia had been a boy from a poor claim who only owned the shirt on his back and two tattered books and now he was a lawyer with an expensive suit and a position at Charles Pike’s firm, coins jangling in his pockets as he walked.  

He had paid off the mortgage the first chance he got, and now his mother rented the land out to other farmers for pasture.  That was all it was good for, anyway, and Bellamy made more than enough to keep them comfortable.  He rounded the corner separating his mother’s land from the Millers’ and heard a joyful shout in the distance.

Octavia had seen him from a quarter mile off and she was running to him, her skirts flying as she pumped her arms.  She threw herself into his arms with a screech and he swung her around.  “You weren’t supposed to be here until tomorrow,” she scolded, and he laughed and set her down.

“I got impatient.  Are you complaining?”

Octavia grinned and punched him in the shoulder.  “Never.”

His mother’s reaction was more subdued but no less joyful, and she insisted on making a roast even though he protested that the chicken she was going to make for herself and Octavia was more than sufficient.  But all throughout dinner she cast him careful, measured looks, and when Octavia was preoccupied with the washing she pulled him aside.

“Have you seen her?”

“No,” he said quickly, but his eyes darted to the window towards the Griffin homestead anyway.

“I thought you might have gone to see her first,” she said.  “I would have understood.”

Even after all these years, it hurt.  By all rights he should have been going to see Clarke first.  He should be coming back to marry her; he would be, in fact, if she had agreed to wait.  That was all he wanted— all he’d ever wanted.  Almost as much as he’d wanted an education.  

But she didn’t want him.

As the sun sank below the horizon he found himself pulling on his boots.  “Want some company?” Octavia asked, but he shook his head.  

“Just want to take a walk,” he said, and that was some of the truth.  Mostly, he wanted to show himself he could remember Clarke without falling apart.

He went straight for the tree on the rise between their property.  There had been some dispute over who found it first, him or Clarke, and for the first year they warred over it like opposing armies.  But at some point their enmity had shifted to friendship, and soon they used it as a meeting spot.  There was a hollow in it the perfect size for hiding treasures, and for years they left notes for each other there.  

The tree had been host to other things too, hesitant kisses and fumblings that were sweet and bright in his memory, with a clarity he had spent six years hoping to shake.  The sky turned orange and purple and pink and he sat down, thinking of all the times he had been in this very spot, his back leaning against the tree while Clarke sketched.  Sometimes she would lay her head in his lap and let him card his fingers through her hair, lulling her into a doze until their mothers shouted for them.

The tree was where he asked her to marry him, and where she broke his heart.  _That’s not the life I want,_ she had said, her face immobile and cold.  He had left angry but that anger had turned to sadness by the time he arrived in his boarding house, but by then it was too late.  He started dozens of letters to her but none of them felt right, so in the end he simply told himself it was a childhood love and nothing more.

Sitting next to the tree now, six years later, he knew that was a lie.  He reached into the hollow out of idle curiosity, but his hand brushed something that didn’t belong.  It was hard, wrapped in waxy canvas, and when he pulled it out and unwrapped it, he recognized it.

Abby Griffin had kept it on the hutch near her doctoring kit, a plain, unremarkable wooden box except for the initials  _JG_  carved into the top.

It was Clarke’s.  That much was certain.  It was Clarke’s and he had no right to pry, but he told himself this tree didn’t just belong to her.  And he had spent so long yearning for anything of hers that the temptation was just to great.  He lifted the lid and all the air left his lungs at the sight of his name in her deliberate, careful cursive.  

Dozens and dozens of letters, and as he flipped through them he saw each one was addressed to him, all with a date marked neatly in the corner.  He chose one at random and looked at the date— three years ago.  Another was from five years ago, and one on the top was dated that very year.

His vision swam and he felt lightheaded.  Behind him the prairie grass rustled and he turned to see Clarke frozen five feet away.  “You found them,” she said, breathless.  “I heard you were back, and—”

He drank in the sight of her— she was just as he remembered but different too, like everything.  Some of her curves were softer and some of the lines of her face were sharper, but she was still Clarke, still so beautiful it hurt to look at her.  “You wrote to me,” he said dumbly.

Clarke sank to her knees and snatched the letters away.  She stuffed them haphazardly into the box without looking up.  “I never sent them,” she mumbled.

“You wrote to me,” he repeated.  “You— I thought you— you said no.  You said you didn’t love me,” he stammered out.  “Right here.  Six years ago.  I asked you to wait for me, and you said no.”

She sniffled and kept her eyes on the box.  Her hand shook as she fumbled with the latch and she shook her head.  “I never said I didn’t love you,” Clarke said quietly.

“I asked you to marry me,” he said again.  “You said no.”

“Because I didn’t want you to come back,” she said and looked up.  Her eyes gleamed but her chin was lifted, proud and fierce.  “I didn’t want this life for you.  You deserved better.  It wasn’t because— I never said I didn’t love you.  I did.”

“And right did you have to decide that for me?”

She tore her eyes away from him.  “None.  But I also knew I would never forgive myself if you came back here just for me.  I wanted you to be free– free to choose without feeling beholden to me.”

Bellamy picked up a letter she had missed and looked at the date.  “You wrote to me last week,” he said.  A hope he thought was long extinguished bloomed in his chest.  “Do you?”

“Do I what?”

“Do you still love me?”

“What does that matter now?”

Bellamy lifted her chin with his finger so she was looking at him.  “Do you still love me?”

“How could I ever stop?” she said with a half-laugh, half sob caught in her throat.

Bellamy had won awards in school for his speeches.  He was devastating in the courtroom with them, and he could marshal them to win any argument, convince any opponent.  But here, words failed him.  

So he caught her face in his hands and kissed her instead.


	43. Changes

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> From an anon request for Bellarke reacting to each other's new looks.

It was so much to take in. **  
**

Clarke was alive, healthy, whole, and _right there._   After six years of believing she was dead, after six years of mourning, he could reach out and touch her arm, feel the pulse pounding in her wrist, feel the warmth radiating from her.  Bellamy kept waiting to wake up, to find out it was a hallucination borne of grief or hunger or isolation, but then Clarke would smile at him and he’d remember all over again that this was  _real._

It was so overwhelming it took him longer than it should have to notice the changes.  He noticed the angles in her face first, the way six years of hard living had sharpened her jaw and melted away some of the softness in her cheeks.  There was the scar on her calf— long and pink and shiny— and gone were the long, flowing waves of blonde hair, replaced by a jagged bob and a shock of barely hidden red.

The latter he didn’t really notice until the sun was setting on the second day.  She was bent over the hood of the rover with a map spread out before them in an eerie echo of their last day together, frantically making calculations in Becca’s lab.  One of the sun’s last rays caught the tips of her hair and Bellamy blinked, realizing it wasn’t just a trick of the light— her hair really was gold and flame.  

Without thinking he reached out and curled a lock of red around his finger, rubbing it as if he could somehow feel it’s color.  Clarke stopped talking and looked up at him, a gentle smile on her face.  “You’re not paying attention,” she scolded, and Bellamy shrugged.

“You changed your hair,” he replied.

“I changed a lot of things,” she teased.  “And you grew a beard.”

Bellamy dropped her hair and rubbed at his cheek.  His stubble scraped across his palm, bristly-soft.  “I forgot about this.  Not a lot of mirrors on the Ark,” he said ruefully.

Clarke brushed his jaw with the back of her knuckles and then flipped her hand over, replacing his palm with her own.  “I like it,” she said, her eyes dropping to his lips and her own curving into a grin.  “It’s kind of a mess, but it suits you.”

Bellamy snorted and for the space of three heartbeats they simply looked at each other with wonder and awe and gentleness.  That after all this time they could be doing this, standing together, both of them alive— hardened and changed after six years apart, but still  _them._   She was still by his side and he was still by hers, even after everything.  Clarke’s thumb swept across his cheek and she pinned her lower lip between her teeth.

“Eligius is on the move,” the radio crackled from Clarke’s hip.  And just like that the moment melted away because the war wasn’t over and the peace was not yet won.

But for the first time in six years Bellamy had faith that someday, it would be.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Guys I am 40000% here for scruffy!Bellamy and Bob’s terrible patchy facial hair you have no idea. And I am already on the record as being Very Into Clarke’s new look so really this prompt hits allllll my s5 buttons.


	44. Walking the line

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> For an anon request for the sentence starters "I’m fine. Stop asking,” and “I’m not leaving until you tell me what’s wrong, and don’t try lying to me.”

“I’m fine,” Clarke said raggedly.  “Stop asking.”  She wiped her mouth with the back of her hand and sat back against the bathtub. **  
**

“You’re definitely not fine,” Bellamy countered.  “I’ve barely ever seen you drunk, and now you’re puking in my toilet.”

“So let me puke in peace,” she said, her eyes closed.

“I’m not leaving until you tell me what’s wrong,” he said.  He didn’t really have a reason to be this insistent, except he was the only sober person in the house and honestly, he was a little worried.  Clarke was the one friend of Octavia’s he could count on, but tonight she was a complete mess.  He didn’t know her that well— Aurora had only moved them here a year ago and Bellamy had been away at college for most of it— but he had gotten to know her a bit this summer.  And Clarke Griffin was someone who was serious, who laughed at his lame jokes, and who usually was helping him corral Octavia’s idiot friends.  She was not someone who chugged vodka straight from the bottle and snarled at him when he tried to intervene.

“I’m not—”

“And don’t even try lying,” he finished and perched on the rim of the bathtub.  The house was still unfamiliar to him, even though they had the same bathmat as the last three places his mom had lived.  But it didn’t feel like home to him.  Most of the places they’d lived hadn’t, to be perfectly honest, although Octavia seemed pretty happy here.  A lot of that seemed to be due to Clarke, and for that he would always be grateful.

Clarke sighed and then lurched forward to empty her stomach again.  Bellamy reached out and caught her hair, holding it back while she heaved and then brushing his hand across her forehead when she sat back.  Her skin was clammy and she shrugged away from his touch.  “You know the guy I was seeing?” she said when she caught her breath.

“The one up at Arkadia, yeah,” Bellamy said.  He handed her a water bottle he’d grabbed when he saw her sprint towards the bathroom.  Bellamy had only met the guy once and instantly disliked him, although Octavia had pointed out he disliked most men at first so this guy wasn’t necessarily that shady.

“Yeah, well, I found out why he was so weird about me getting accepted.”

Bellamy grimaced.  “Already had a girlfriend?”

Clarke gave a watery laugh.  “Did everyone know?” she asked, and her chin started to wobble.

“Just a lucky guess,” Bellamy said quickly, although he had wondered what Finn was hiding when Clarke told him her boyfriend had been getting strangely distant as the summer progressed and move-in drew closer.  “That fucking sucks, Clarke, I’m sorry,” he added.

“And now I’m gonna have to see him,” she said shakily.  “Him and whoever she is.  I’m gonna see them and it’s gonna suck, but I won’t be able to tell anyone.”

Bellamy slid down off the edge and stretched his legs out next to her.  “You can tell me,” he said, and wondered if he was crossing a line.   _It’s not like you watched her grow up; you met her three months ago,_ he reasoned, but still, she was eighteen and he was going to be twenty-three in a couple of weeks.  But Bellamy could never walk away from someone who needed help, especially not someone whose smile never failed to brighten his day.

Clarke looked over at him and wiped her cheek.  “Really?”

“Sure,” he said, like it was no big deal, because it wasn’t.  He would offer the same thing to Jasper, except honestly, he probably wouldn’t and that was exactly why he shouldn’t be offering.  “I’ll be on campus most days, and my apartment won’t be too far from the dorms.  And I won’t judge.”

“You’ll probably judge a little,” she said with a crooked smile.

Against his better judgment, Bellamy reached out and brushed an errant tear from her cheek.  He felt like the world’s biggest creep, but he really couldn’t help himself when it came to Clarke.  “Only a little,” he teased, and when her smile got just a few shades brighter his heart did something very, very stupid.

Clarke sniffled and leaned her head against his shoulder.  “Thanks, Bellamy.”

Bellamy stroked her hair clumsily.  “Anytime, princess.”

 

 


	45. Walking the line (II)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I had a request on the previous chapter for Clarke taking care of drunk!Bellamy.

“You guys coming?” Miller asked.

“Go on ahead,” Clarke called back.  “I’ve got half a beer to finish and I’m not up for chugging it.”  She raised her bottle up and sloshed it around for proof.  Bellamy was busy at the sink, rinsing out the remaining glasses because of  _ course  _ he would do the dishes before going out to a bar.

“Didn’t take you for a quitter,” Miller teased and then grabbed his keys from the table near the door.  She thought she caught him throwing a look at Bellamy, but it happened so fast she couldn’t be sure.

Clarke leaned her hip against the counter. “You could do those tomorrow,” she pointed out.  

Bellamy killed the stream of water and set the last glass on the drying rack.  “Washing glasses that have the remnants of alcohol in them when you’re hungover is a special kind of torture,” he said.  “I’d rather just get it out of the way now.”

“You planning on getting drunk enough you’ll be hungover?  You’ve had like, two beers.”

Bellamy opened the fridge and twisted off the cap of a bottle.  “Make that three,” he said with a familiar grin.

“Just be careful— I’m making no promises about babysitting you again.”  Clarke smiled back and lifted her bottle to her lips.

Bellamy shrugged.  “Whatever, you owed me.”

“I  _ owed  _ you?  That was three years ago,” she protested.  “You said you were just being  _ nice _ ."

“And I was.  But you still owed me, and now we’re even.”

Clarke rolled her eyes at him, but a part of her did feel like they _were_ finally even, thanks to his Echo-induced meltdown four months ago.  He and Echo had been on-and-off for ages, and Clarke assumed he was fine with that— and she understood the appeal, as she was a human with eyes who had seen Echo— but the night after he called it off for good he’d gotten drunker than she had ever seen him.  He ended up puking in her bathroom (first the sink and then the toilet) and in repayment for that night summer before her freshman year, Clarke had spent the night sitting on the cool tile, his head in her lap as he spilled out the whole story.  About how neither of them could decide if they wanted something more, and how every time they broke up the sex drew him back in.  (Again, Clarke understood— Echo was stunning on a level rarely achieved by mere mortals.)

“But I do want more,” Bellamy had sighed.  She scratched her nails soothingly across his scalp and his eyes fluttered shut.  “I don’t want to do the hook up shit anymore.  I want something  _ real _ and sometimes I think we’d have it, but then we’d get into a fight and…” he trailed off and Clarke wondered if he’d passed out, but then he cleared his throat.  “I guess I wanted more, just not with her.”

Clarke made an understanding noise and her stomach twisted, but now-- with him drunk and pathetic and vomitty-- was not the time for her to address a years-old crush.

Because that was all it was, really— a crush on her friend’s older brother.  And Clarke was reasonably sure some part of him still saw her as his little sister’s friend who he had to watch out for.  When she had moved in freshman year he was true to his word, and even showed up to help carry her minifridge up five flights of stairs, much to the delight of most of the women and a sizable portion of the men in her dorm.  But in October when she texted him to tell him she’d run into Finn and his girlfriend in the cafeteria he’d offered to meet her at a coffee shop with his new girlfriend.  Gina was exceedingly sympathetic and encouraged Clarke to draw dozens of cathartic cartoons of Finn getting hit by a bus, but Clarke caught Bellamy’s message loud and clear.  Whatever she thought had passed between them on the bathroom floor that night was just in her head, borne of too much vodka and a stupid crush.  

So she tucked her memories of that night away and moved on.  She was mostly successful, but sometimes it would flare up unexpectedly and she’d wish he’d see her differently.  They were friends now— real friends, who texted all the time and hung out together most weekends— but he had a habit of mentioning how much older he was than her in a way she knew meant  _ I’m not interested. _   It sucked, but she could deal.

Mostly.

She finished her beer and took another one from the fridge, hoisting herself up onto the island and letting her heels bang against the cabinets. She watched Bellamy open another beer and quietly preened that he would rather just stand around his kitchen with her, drinking and talking, than go out to the bars with their friends.

Bellamy was telling her a story about one of his professors, laughing at her ribbing and throwing it right back at her, when it hit her: something was different about tonight.  He was standing just a little closer to her than usual, and when she flirted with him he was definitely flirting  _ back _ .  She’d had just enough beer to feel bold so when he finished with his story she leaned back on her palms and cocked her head to the side.  “So when are we going to do something about this?” she asked.

“This?”

Clarke stuck her leg out and hooked her ankle around his back, nudging him closer.  “This,” she said pointedly, and his eyes widened.

Bellamy licked his lips and his hand came to rest on her ankle, curling around the bone and then sliding up her calf as he moved towards her.  She hadn’t shaved in awhile and her stubble prickled under his palm.  He stopped just millimeters from the hem of her shorts and he looked down at her.  “It feels— it feels like something I shouldn’t want,” he said, but his fingers were burning into her upper thigh and his eyes were locked on her mouth.

“Why?  Because I’m younger than you?”

“Yeah, that’s basically it,” he said with a breathless laugh.  “But Miller keeps pointing out that you’re twenty-one, so it’s not like I’m robbing the cradle.”

“You’ve been talking to Miller about me?” she said and sat up straighter.  This brought her lips closer to his, but she sensed this was something he needed to come to on his own so she didn't kiss him, not yet.  But that didn’t stop her from curling her finger in his belt loop and tugging him infinitesimally closer.  Her knees penned him in on either side and his hand came up to cup her jaw.

“More like he’s been yelling at me to get over my hang-ups,” he said, studying her face.  He tucked her hair back behind her ear and swept his thumb across her lower lip.  He looked mesmerized, dazed by their closeness, and she wanted him to look at her like that forever.

“You’re not a creep, you know,” she said even though being this close to him made it hard to breathe.  “You’ve been a perfect gentleman.  Possibly too perfect.”

“And if I kiss you now?  What will that make me?”

“I'm not sure, but I do know that if you don’t kiss me you’re a dead man,” she threatened.  Bellamy huffed out a laugh and drew her face up to his, their lips meeting carefully.  But when she swept her tongue into his mouth he lost all pretense of restraint.  He pressed into her as if he couldn’t bear to have even a hairsbreadth of space between them.

His phone beeped from his pocket and he swore, tearing himself away.  Clarke whined at the loss and he pulled his phone out.  “It’s fucking Miller,” he growled.  “He wants to know where we are, and if I don’t respond he’s going to just keep texting.”

Clarke tugged him back for a kiss.  “Tell him we’re not coming,” she said, and Bellamy’s lips curved into a grin against hers.  He cupped her face in his hands and nipped at her lower lip, and then pulled back once more to tap something out on his phone.

“There,” he said triumphantly.  “Where were we?”

Clarke wrapped her arms around his neck and placed a kiss on the corner of his mouth.  “Making up for lost time.”

  
  



	46. heartbeats

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This gifset (http://rhysand.tumblr.com/post/164307231243/leo-christopher) by @rhysand absolutely killed me and it inspired a drabble set a little ways into s5.

Clarke made a soft, happy noise and Bellamy glanced down.  He felt like he hadn’t stopped smiling in hours, not since she kissed him, and his cheeks ached.  Her head was pillowed just over his heart and he firelight danced across her skin as she traced idle circles across his skin.  “What is it?” he asked, and Clarke lifted her head to reveal a smile that rivaled his own. **  
**

“I like hearing it,” she said.  “Your heart beat,” she clarified.  “It’s…reassuring.  I spent so long not knowing—” she broke off and her smile slipped away. A familiar guilt clawed at his ribs.  She spent so long not knowing if he was alive, because he thought she was dead.  Because he left her behind.  Because he made a call that damaged them both in ways he was just beginning to comprehend.  Clarke shook her head at his expression.  “It’s not that,” she clarified.  “I just— I used to think about hearing it when I was alone.  What it would be like to rest my head here, and know you were safe and alive.  It’s a good memory, Bellamy, not a sad one.”

Bellamy carded his fingers through her hair and attempted a smile, but it was suddenly hard to summon.  “I’m sorry,” he said for the hundredth time in the last six weeks.  “I’m—”

Clarke pressed her fingertips to his lips, silencing him.  “I said no apologies,” she said, and leaned forward.  This kiss was gentle, so unlike the desperate, needy ones they’d fallen into an hour earlier.  “It had to be done.  And it’s over, Bellamy.  You’re here, with me.  You’re alive,” she said, and her face broke out into a smile that outshone the brightest stars in the sky.

Bellamy curled his hand around the back of her neck.  “I love you,” he said and his voice threatened to break under the weight of everything he was feeling.  “I love you so much.”

“I know,” she whispered, and there was nothing more to say.

 

 


	47. the rope or the water

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> For swishywillow, for no other reason than I love her and I know she likes fake relationships.

It always ended this way for pirates, Bellamy supposed.  It was the noose or the ocean, and while all things considered he’d prefer the water, he couldn’t say he was surprised it would be the rope.  Especially after kidnapping the former governor’s daughter and the future wife of a naval captain.

He hadn’t set out to kidnap her, but no one— least of all her betrothed— would believe him.  Her ship was foundered on a reef and all would have been lost if the  _ Rebellion _ hadn’t come upon them.  Ransom of the captives was only fair as payment for their rescue, and when he discovered that one of their captives was the nearest thing the island had to a princess Bellamy couldn’t deny his crew their just rewards.

Clarke Griffin had been a handful from the start, infuriating and stubborn and prone to disobeying whatever order he issued, even if it was for her own safety.  But the last week before the ambush things had shifted between them, their barbs taking on the flavor of banter instead of disgust, and her scream when Bellamy found himself surrounded by a dozen of the Royal Navy’s best swords sounded genuine.  She’d begged her betrothed to spare his life long enough for a trial but the evidence of his piracy was ironclad.  The trial was a formality and nothing more.

He would hang tomorrow.

He thought back to his last two weeks on the  _ Rebellion _ and wondered if he would do it differently.  If he’d known that taking Clarke aboard would mean his death, would he still have done it?  Could he have left her to drown instead? No matter how many times he revisited it, he knew the answer was  _ yes _ .  Her bright blue eyes, her infuriating stubbornness, her quick wit— all of it made it worth it.

Well, almost.

He wished he’d kissed her, just once.  There had been a moment in his quarters as they fought over a map of the island, arguing about the best course for dropping her off without being cornered by the navy, when their eyes locked.  He’d almost done it, but then a cannon  _ boomed _ in the distance and the battle with the Royal Navy upended all those plans.

The door to the cells rattled but Bellamy didn’t look up.  He’d said his goodbyes to Octavia earlier today and there wasn’t anyone else who would come for him, so he just craned his neck and searched the tiny window for one last glimpse of the moon.  Torchlight flickered against the stone walls and he heard a woman’s voice drawing nearer.  He stood, not believing his own ears, and then Clarke rounded the corner with two guards close behind her.  “--a disgrace to Arkadia and the rule of law,” she scolded.  “Convicting a man of piracy for having his own wife aboard his ship?  Unlock that cell at once.”

A bewildered and nervous guard fit the key into the lock and pulled open the bars.  Clarke flung herself into his arms before Bellamy had a chance to react.  “Just play along,” she hissed, and then she  _ kissed _ him and just as soon as his body realized it wasn’t a dream, she stopped.  “I explained to the judge about the wedding,” she said, loud enough for the guards to hear.  “He’s agreed to let you go.”

Never one to miss an opportunity, Bellamy banded his arm around Clarke’s waist and pulled her close for another kiss, making sure to enjoy it this time.  She melted against him and then stepped back.  “Let’s go, our carriage is waiting,” she said and swept out of the jail with him hot on her heels.

The carriage started the moment the door closed.  “Clarke, I—”

“We don’t have much time,” she interrupted.  “The  _ Rebellion _ is waiting for you in the cove on the eastern side of the island.  We have to get you off the island before anyone realizes what’s happened.”

“And what, pray tell,  _ has _ happened?” he asked.  “Because I think I would remember marrying you.”  He cracked a grin that she echoed, and outside the horse's hooves  _clip clopped_ against the cobblestones.

Clarke waved her hand.  “Kane agreed to sign papers for your release when I told him I’d married you of my own free will.  But he can’t allow piracy to continue on the island, so it was only on the condition you leave and never return.  And if-- well, when the Navy finds out, they'll go after you.  So you have to go tonight."

_ Leave and never return _ .  That would mean never seeing her again, but she had clearly made up her mind, and if this was all he was to have of her, he’d accept that.  He wanted more time— another kiss— but the carriage jerked to a stop and Clarke hopped out.

A small boat was beached in the cove and out in the deeper waters the  _ Rebellion _ bobbed, its shape comfortingly familiar.  Bellamy turned around, trying to find the words to say goodbye to her, to thank her for what she’d done to save him, and abruptly realized she was already climbing into the boat.  “Come on,” she hissed.  “I said we don’t have much time.”

“You’re coming with me?” he asked, finding his voice.

Clarke flashed him a rakish grin.  “I couldn’t let my husband leave without me, could I?”

  
  



	48. lessons

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This s5 spec has been stuck in my head for weeeeks.

“We go now,” Clarke snarled.  “There’s no time.”

That muscle in Bellamy’s jaw ticked.  “We’re out-numbered ten to one, and they have guns.”  He crossed his arms and faced her, and she wondered how it had come to this so quickly.  She’d been so happy to see him, even while half-frantic with worry for Madi, but the Bellamy who walked off the rocket wasn’t the Bellamy she remembered.  That Bellamy would have understood why they had to attack Eligius  _ now _ .  They had Madi and she was going out of her mind, and Bellamy wanted to  _ wait _ .

“We have guns,” she argued.

“We have three guns," he corrected. "They’ve got at least two dozen armed guards.”

“We have swords too,” she said, jerking her head back towards the fire.

“We have two swords,” he said tightly.  “And Echo’s the only one who knows how to use them effectively.”

"Bellamy—”

“I know,” he said in an attempt at patience.  “I get that you’re worried, but we can’t risk—”

“The Bellamy I know would have taken the risk,” she declared and stalked off before she said something she regretted.  She sat down heavily on a log near the fire and stared at the flames, trying to control her rage.  She heard Bellamy march into the brush, presumably to take the watch over from Murphy.

Across from her Echo sat sharpening her sword.  The metallic scrape sounded rhythmically and Clarke tried to let it soothe her, but she was still digging her nails into her palms five minutes later.

Echo glanced up.  “He grieved for you, you know,” she said lowly. She set down her sword and picked up the other one.

“What?” Clarke said, distracted.  She didn’t know why Eligius wanted Madi and she couldn’t stop imagining the worst.   _ Is she scared?  Does she know I’m coming for her?   _ _How bad has it gotten?_

“He grieved for you.  They all did,” Echo said.  “For years.”  She scraped a stone across her blade and looked up again.  “Raven wouldn’t even say your name for the first six months.”

“And?” Clarke sighed.  Everything was fucked up and her heart hurt for her friends but right now, her priority was Madi.  They could sort out their feelings later, when Madi was safe.

“It was hard for them,” Echo continued.  “For all of them, but for him in particular.  He broke his hand once.  Punched a wall until Murphy dragged him away.”

“Because he thought I was dead?”

Echo shrugged.  “Monty said it was your birthday.  I made a guess.”  She balanced the blade on her knees and looked at Clarke directly.  “I got to know him up there.  Very well, in fact.”  In spite of her distraction, Clarke’s stomach twisted at the implication.  They had spent six years together up there and Echo was beautiful.  Clarke wasn’t sure what Bellamy was to her— then or now— but something like jealousy bubbled in her gut.  There was no trace of smirking on Echo’s face, however.  She was simply explaining things to Clarke.

Things about  _ Bellamy. _

So much had changed and Clarke didn’t know how to even begin to unravel it.  But it hurt, she knew that much.

Echo sighed and leaned forward.  “He’s worried about you,” she said.  “He just got you back and you want to go charging head first into danger.  He can’t take it.”

“Can’t take what?”

Echo picked her sword back up and dropped her gaze.  “Losing you.  Again.”

  
  



	49. Fireside conversations

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A slight tweak on sly2o's request for "Madi not recognizing Bellamy when she meets him on his own because he was never described as having a beard by Clarke. She takes her new friend back to meet Clarke."

**  
**“Sorry for hitting you,” Madi said.  Clarke paused with the bucket of water, not wanting to interrupt.  Through the space in the trees she could see Bellamy sitting across the fire from Madi and held her breath.  If the bunker really was gone, these two were the closest thing she had to a family and they hadn’t gotten off to the best start. **  
**

Clarke had been spying on Eligius all day, desperate for a glimpse of her friends.  She saw Murphy and Monty, and an hour later she spied Raven and Echo being taken back to their camp.  Harper and Emori had been the first ones off the ship but no matter how long she watched, she couldn’t see Bellamy.  The Eligius crew didn’t seem to be looking for him either, which meant either they didn’t know about him or— or the worst had happened.

But then Madi came running up and dragged her away from her perch on the cliff opposite the Eligius camp.  “I screwed up, Clarke,” she confessed.  “I thought he was Eligius because you said they had them and you didn’t say anything about a beard so I thought he was one of them and I panicked because he didn’t really look like your drawings because you never drew him with a beard and—” she babbled.

Clarke hurried after her ward, her heart already beating faster.  “What happened?  Who is it?” she asked but she was already half running in the direction Madi pointed.  She hardly dared to hope, but when she burst into the clearing she couldn’t hold back her smile.

It was Bellamy, alive— and bearded— and tied to a tree.  He was halfway through wiggling out of his bindings but when he caught sight of her he froze.  The blood drained from his face as if he’d seen a ghost, but then she was running to him and helping him out of the ropes and burying her face in his neck as he hugged her tighter than she had ever been hugged.  He had a goose egg and a cut on the back of his head where Madi had beaned him with her club, but otherwise he was safe and whole.

The fire hissed and cracked and Madi looked up at him anxiously.  Bellamy gingerly lifted his hand and touched the back of his head.  “You did what you had to do,” he reassured her, and Clarke set down the water.  She wanted to give them just a little more time to work through this before she barged back in.  “Your knots need a little work, though,” he added.  “If I had been Eligius, I’d have been free in another five minutes.”

Madi narrowed her eyes.  “Clarke taught me those knots,” she said, and Clarke couldn’t help but preen at the protectiveness in Madi’s voice.

“Yeah, well, they still need work,” he said.  Bellamy waited a beat and then broke into a grin.  It took Madi a second but she grinned back and Clarke let out the breath she’d been holding.  “I can show you, if you want,” he offered.

“Clarke said you taught her how to shoot, too.”

“I did.  I assume she’s taught you?”

“She has, but—” Madi leaned closer and lowered her voice to a whisper.  “ — I’m way better at it, though.”

Bellamy snorted.  “That’s impressive.  Clarke’s a pretty good shot.”

“Yeah, and I’m better,” Madi bragged.  Clarke smiled to herself and bent to pick up the bucket when Madi spoke again.  “I’m really glad you’re okay,” she said.

“You didn’t hit me  _that_  hard,” Bellamy ribbed.

“No, I mean— she was really worried.  She talked to you on the radio every day, no matter what, even if we didn’t really have time or she was sick or it was storming out.  She said it was about the routine, but when you weren’t with the others—” Madi broke off, tossed a twig into the fire, and watched it burn.  “I didn’t want to know what it’d be like for her to get everyone else back and not you.”

Clarke tried to swallow past the lump in her throat and Bellamy blinked rapidly.  “Well, I’m here,” he said.  “And for what it’s worth, I think she would have been okay.  She has you, right?”

Madi straightened her shoulders.  “She does,” she said proudly.

Bellamy smiled and Clarke took the break in conversation to walk back into the clearing.  She set the bucket down and picked up her rag, but she couldn’t miss the way Bellamy’s eyes followed her as she moved.  The relief in his face was palpable and she knew she mirrored his expression.   “I’m going to see to that cut,” she said as briskly as possible.  She touched his shoulder to turn him towards the light and Bellamy’s hand reached up, fumbling for her.  She grasped it tightly and blinked back her tears as he rested his cheek on her hand, but then Madi pulled out a rope and asked Bellamy to show her a better knot, and the moment passed.


	50. U up?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> From an anon request for bellarke and friends with benefits.

**  
** _Princess **  
**_

_10:03pm_

_U up?_

_Augustus_

_10:03pm_

_It’s barely 10 of course I am._

_Princess_

_10:03pm_

_I didn’t know how far your grumpy old man tendencies stretched_

_Augustus_

_10:04pm_

_If you wanted to come over and fuck me you’re off to a terrible start._

_Princess_

_10:04pm_

_Whatever see you in 5_

 

Bellamy set his phone down on the nightstand and put a bookmark in his book.  She would totally call him on it when she came in, but he didn’t care.  Banter was part of their deal, along with what he was coming to realize was the best sex of his life.

It was an accident the first time; just two coworkers getting beers at a bar and ranting about their shitty principal.  But then she kissed him as he walked her to her car, and after a month– wherein they hooked up no less than four times– they realized they weren’t planning on stopping any time soon. So they set up rules and boundaries and six months later he hadn’t so much as touched a dating app in months.

Miller had straight up asked last week what had gotten into him, but it wasn’t any of Miller’s damn business.  What he had with Clarke was just between them, and that was fine.

Right?

His intercom buzzed, jolting him out of his thoughts.  He stepped into a pair of sweatpants on his way to the door but didn’t bother with a shirt and left his glasses on— he knew what she liked.

The look on her face when he opened the door didn’t disappoint.  “Raven was wondering why you didn’t come out with everyone,” she announced as she stepped out of her shoes and rolled up on her toes to kiss him hello.  The casual affection they showed each other outside of the bedroom was new, and not at all unwelcome.  It gave him an excuse to tuck her hair back behind her ear and let his hand linger on her cheek.

“What did you say?”

Clarke peeled her motorcycle jacket off and let it drop to the floor. “I pointed out that you’re a lame old man who was probably already in bed.”  She eyed his bare chest and quirked an eyebrow.  “And it appears I was right.”

Bellamy crowded her against the door and she laced their fingers together.  “Are you complaining?” he asked, leaning down until their lips were almost brushing.

“Never,” she grinned, and closed the distance between them.

Like always, his heart did a little flutter-step when their lips met.  

And like always, he told himself to ignore it.


	51. still drifting off alone (Raven/Roan)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Companion piece to the standalone bellarke fic how am I supposed to live without you, from an anonymous request for an ice mechanic outtake. Title also taken from "Sleeping" from the musical Once.

Raven leaned her head against the wall and sighed, rubbing her hip absently.  It was cramping thanks to spending last night in a chair, and her brace was starting to chafe.  But for the first time since that heart-stopping phone call she felt like she could catch her breath.   **  
**

Clarke was going to be okay.  She had a long, rough road ahead of her, but she was alive.  Raven could work with that.  Roan shut the door to Clarke’s room behind him and a nurse she vaguely recognized walked past.  “You okay?” Roan asked with the odd tenderness that had characterized his every action since she met him at the airport.  It was weird to see him acting like this— like he _cared_.  She hadn’t realized Roan was capable of that, to be perfectly honest, but the knowledge wasn’t unwelcome.

“Yeah,” she said, blinking back relieved tears.  “Of course.”

“You sure?”

Raven wiped her cheeks and looked away, unwilling to let him see her like this.  “It’s fine— you can go.  You’ve done more than enough,” she said.

Abby poked her head out the door.  “Clarke’s already falling back asleep,” she said.  “If you wanted to go home and sleep for a bit, I think she’ll be out for awhile.  Roan, can you—?”

“I can drive her home if she wants,” he said with a careful look at Raven.  “Or I can just go if you’d rather stay.”

Raven hesitated, but the bone-deep exhaustion was already pulling at her.  “I’ll catch a ride home with Roan,” she said.  “Be back first thing tomorrow.”

Abby pulled her into a tight hug.  “Thank you.  Thank you for taking care of her, thank you for finding me, just— thank you,” she murmured.

Raven wrapped her arms around Abby’s back and squeezed, wondering if all moms hugged like this.  “I’m sorry I wasn’t here when it happened,” she whispered, her throat thick.  

Abby let go and brushed away a tear.  “You couldn’t do anything about that,” she insisted.  “And you did what you could.”

Roan reappeared with her duffle bag and pillow.  “Did you want to say goodbye to Clarke?” he asked.

Raven looked in the room but Clarke was sound asleep, her breathing slow and even and blessedly unassisted by a machine.  “I’ll see her when she wakes up,” she said, and with one last hug from Abby they set off down the hall.  Raven took her pillow from Roan but he waved off her offer of carrying her bag and once more she found herself wondering when, exactly, she’d decided to accept his help.

Because Raven loathed anything that felt like pity or charity.  She always had.  She would accept help from Clarke and Abby, but they were more like family than her own blood had ever felt, so the exception barely registered.

But Roan— he wasn’t family.  He was barely even her friend; more like Clarke’s friend who hung around with them sometimes.  He was a few years older and always out of town doing shit like “snowboarding out of a helicopter,” and she had been momentarily shocked when he offered his help and even more surprised when he actually followed through.

Then again, maybe she shouldn’t have been.  She stole a sideways glance at him as he fished his keys from his pocket.  Roan had always been honest, and there was a sincerity about him that tended to catch her off-guard.  He wouldn’t be the type to offer empty platitudes.  And she had to admit, it was nice to have someone watching out for her.  It had been a long time since Raven relied on anyone who wasn’t Clarke for help and here Roan was, stepping up without even being asked.

Up ahead brake lights flashed and Roan shifted into a lower gear. They rolled to a stop and he peered out the windshield, frowning.  “Mind checking the traffic?” he asked.

Raven already had her phone out.  “There’s an accident a few miles ahead.  Looks bad,” she said, choking down a groan.  All she wanted was a hot shower and a horizontal place to sleep and now they were stuck.

Roan reached into the backseat and grabbed her pillow.  “Here,” he said, holding it out.  “You can just pass out until we get there.”

Raven took it with a wry smile.  “Are you ever going to stop trying to take care of me?”

“Only if you ask me to stop,” he said, and half a smile flashed across his face.

Raven bunched the pillow between her shoulder and the window and let her eyes drift shut.  Roan inched through traffic and the purr of his engine lulled her to sleep.

A gentle touch on her shoulder woke her up.  “We’re here,” his baritone rumbled.

Raven sat up and stretched her arm back to grab her bag, turning to face him.  Those light blue eyes were soft and she wasn’t sure when she had felt like this; protected and cared for in a way that didn’t make her feel weak.  “Roan, I—” she broke off because words were failing her, but action never did.  She sprang forward and caught his face in her hands and kissed him.  His beard was softer than she’d thought and his lips softer still.  He responded eagerly, his hand curling around the back of her neck to draw her closer even though the stick shift was in the way and the leather seats gave her little purchase.  She knocked her hip into the dashboard and Roan’s elbow bumped the horn.  The blast broke them apart and she chuckled.  “Want to come up?” she asked, her exhaustion melting away.

Roan gave her a look that threatened to set her on fire and swept his thumb across her cheekbone.  “No,” he said, and she raised her eyebrows.

“No?”

He gave her that half-smirk again.  “Or…not yet,” he said.

“Don’t tell me you need me to wine and dine you,” she teased.

Roan laughed and drew her close to kiss her again.  His kisses were demanding but not insistent, just like him.  “Not exactly.  More like…I have plans for you, Reyes.  And I want you to be well rested.”  He took her chin between his thumb and forefinger and she nipped at the tip of his thumb, her chest feeling light and easy in a way she hadn’t in days.

“Friday?” she suggested.

Roan’s eyes dwelt on her as she leaned back and a frisson went up her spine.  “Friday,” he agreed.


	52. Still working on that biography

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Reblogginhood requested bellarke and angsty exes. Blame her, not me.

Clarke rolled over and looked at her clock.  Dim green numbers glared back at her.   _1:28 am._  She was in for another sleepless night.  Another night pretending the bed didn’t feel empty; another night wishing she could take back everything she’d yelled at Bellamy. **  
**

She turned back to her side and squeezed her eyes shut, hoping that if she faked sleep long enough it would come.

She made it another ten minutes before she cracked.  She picked up her phone, chewing on her lower lip, and wondered.  He probably wouldn’t answer.  Not after she slammed the door behind her.

She called him anyway.

Clarke was just about to hang up when he answered.  The line was silent for so long she thought maybe the call had just dropped, but then he cleared his throat.  “Can’t sleep either, huh?” he said.

Tears welled in her eyes.  His voice was so rough, so  _familiar_.  She wanted to curl up with her head on his chest and hear it rumble against her ear, his hands carding sleepily through her hair.  “Haven’t been able to,” she admitted.  “I— I miss you.”

Bellamy blew out a long, slow breath.  “I miss you too,” he said, and a sob caught in her throat.

“Did I break us?  Completely?” she asked, not sure she wanted to know the answer.

“I don’t know,” he said, and she could hear the pain in his voice.  “You might not have, but I might’ve.”

Clarke closed her eyes and shook her head before she realized he couldn’t see her.  “You didn’t,” she swore.  “But I—”

Bellamy sighed again.  “Let’s not do this tonight,” he said.  “We have to talk, but not now.  Not like this.  Did you want me to read to you?”

For the first time in three weeks, the vice around her heart loosened.  “Depends.  What are you reading?”

“Still working on that biography,” he said wryly.

Clarke grinned.  “Perfect.  “I’ll be asleep in no time.”


	53. Jules Verne, hope, and surprises

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> From an anon prompt for bellarke and "excuse me miss, you dropped your..."
> 
> Vaguely inspired by North and South, but set 3-4 decades later.

The moment the mill whistle blew Bellamy was out the door.  He loathed every second he had to spend in there, machines rattling deafeningly in his ears and cotton clogging his lungs.  He only stayed because there wasn’t anything else, unless he wanted to pack Octavia up and try America.  Which they could, he reasoned, but they didn’t have the money for passage yet— and wouldn’t for another three years, most like. **  
**

He could survive another three years.

The courtyard was packed with men hustling towards the gates, a sea of grey and black and white surrounded by dark red brick, so in her rich purple dress Miss Griffin stood out like a miner at St. James.  She’d recently returned from London, the subject of some scandal, but you wouldn’t know that from the way she held her chin.  A man in a hurry rammed into her without a second look, sending her things flying.

Normally, Bellamy held a low opinion of her class.  They made their money exploiting men like him, and he’d given more than one speech about the benefits of unionizing where he mocked hats like the one she was wearing now.  But he had met Jake Griffin a few times before he died and it was memory of that man’s kindness that had him bending over to retrieve the book that had fallen near his feet.

“Excuse me, miss,” he said politely.  “You dropped your book.”  He straightened, intending to give it back, but the title caught him by surprise.  “Jules Verne?”

Miss Griffin flashed a smile that set him back on his heels.  “Do you like him?” she asked, heedless of the crowds buffeting around them.

Truthfully, Bellamy devoured anything he could get his hands on.  Novels, politics, economics, history— he didn’t care what it was about, so long as he could read it.  But Jules Verne had struck him deep down in a place he didn’t care to admit he had.  There was an optimism to Verne’s writings that reminded Bellamy of a simpler time, before his mother grew ill.  It reminded him of who he used to be, not the angry man he was. “I do,” he admitted.

“Then it’s yours,” she said, her keen eyes taking him in.  Before he could reject her charity, she shook her head.  “I’ve finished it anyway and I need someone to talk about it with, so that shall be your payment.  When you’ve finished, you come find me.”

Despite everything he had ever learned about interacting with a woman of her status, Bellamy let his eyes darken just a shade.  “You think you’ll like what I have to say?”

If she was scandalized, she hid it well.  “I know I will,” she said, cocking her head to the side.

Around them the mill emptied, but it was as if they were alone in the world.  “You have yourself a deal, miss.”

 “Call me Clarke,” she replied, and with a wink she whisked away in a swirl of purple skirts that left him just the tiniest bit stunned.


	54. virgin goddesses

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> From an anon prompt for "you unknowingly came as my secret ultimate fantasy to this halloween party and I am not handling it well."

Look, it wasn’t a  _thing_  or anything for Bellamy.  It wasn’t like he had a secret stash of Greek Goddess themed porn anywhere, and no matter how much shit Octavia gave him about her name and his choice of profession, he held his head high.  So he had a brand, as she called it— so what?  He could take whatever shit she threw at him, because it was just a joke. **  
**

Until he saw Clarke standing on the other side of Raven’s living room, clad in only a twisted, draped sheet and golden vines, and he almost choked on his tongue.  Greek goddesses weren’t his  _thing,_ but Clarke, wearing that?  

That was  _definitely_  his thing.

He tried to talk to Miller, but he kept sneaking glances at her out of the corner of his eye until Miller rolled his eyes.  “Just go talk to her,” he said.

Bellamy feigned nonchalance.  “Who?”

“Who?” Miller mocked.  “Jesus Christ, just go talk to Clarke.  You two haven’t yelled at each other in like, two months, so I assume you’re friends now.  So go talk to her.”

“Am I that obvious?”

“Always,” Miller deadpanned, and walked away.  Before Bellamy could dart away Clarke caught his eyes and lifted her glass in a silent hello.  Bellamy squeezed between Jasper and Maya and gave Murphy a wide berth and when he reached Clarke he resisted the urge to check out her cleavage.

“Nice peplos,” he observed, and Clarke shook her head with something approaching fondness.  “Are you one goddess in particular, or just doing the general genre goddess thing?”

“Artemis,” she replied.  “I had a bow, but Monty confiscated it for something that I’m sure is a terrible idea.”

“Goddess of the hunt, nice choice,” he said, taking a sip of his drink.

“ _Virgin_  goddess,” she said, her voice sultry.

A half smile flickered across his face.  “You know, the ancients had different understanding of the meaning of that word than we do.”

Clarke’s eyes darkened and she sank her teeth into her full lower lip.  “Is that so?”

“It has less to do with sexual purity than you’d think,” he said, leaning closer.  She’d brushed gold glitter across her skin, sweeping across her collarbones and down into the valley between her breasts.

She tipped her head up.  “Good to know, Bellamy Blake,” she said, trailing her hand across his forearm.  “I’m going to go get a refill, but maybe I’ll see you later.”  Clarke squeezed past him and left him wondering just how much shit for this he was going to get, and already knowing it would be completely worth it.

 

 


	55. one song

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> From an anon request for bellarke wishing they met under different circumstances.

Bellamy leaned back against the old stone wall.  Setting up for the wedding had been exhausting— Virginia summer heat was no picnic— and the grounds crew would still have to pack everything away once the revelers were done.  But for now, he could rest and breath in the forest-chilled air.  He could just barely hear the band playing in the distance, but far closer a twig snapped.   **  
**

“Won’t they be looking for you, princess?” he asked as she emerged from behind a screen of trees like a wood nymph.  “It’s your mother’s wedding, after all.”

“I can slip away for one song,” she said, coming to a stop just inches away.  In the silvery moonlight that slipped through the canopy he could just make out her smirk.

“One song?”

“One dance,” she said, and twined her fingers with his.

“Clarke,” he sighed, even as he pulled her against him.  His hand went to the small of her back and her temple came to rest against his jaw.  “We can’t keep doing this.”

She leaned her head on his shoulder, her lips brushing his neck as she spoke.  “I don’t want to stop,” she said plaintively.  “And I know you don’t either.”

“It’s not about what I want,” he said, because what he  _wanted_  was to marry her.  But she was an heiress and he was a gardener and no matter how much people said the world was changing, it just didn’t seem possible.  They swayed together, the band a mere excuse, and be breathed in the scent of her hair. 

 Some day— some day soon— she would wake up and realize she didn’t want to give up her life for a man who could barely rub two nickels together.  But for now, he let himself enjoy the warmth of her body pressed against him, and they danced.


	56. take it off

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> For the lovely @hedaoftheskaikru, based on the new Taylor Swift song "Dress."

Being in love with your best-friend-slash-roommate created a whole host of problems, and Bellamy would not recommend it.  There were the daily problems, like seeing her sleep mussed and hazy in the mornings, or the way she’d fall asleep on his shoulder damn near every night while insisting she was able to watch another episode before bed.

And then there were the major problems, like when your roommate had to dress up for an opening at her art gallery and came home looking like your wildest dreams come true.  Bellamy had so far managed to navigate the everyday obstacles, but moments like this still made him feel like he was choking on his tongue.

Clarke tossed her keys onto the kitchen table and started her usual process of disrobing.  She did this every day when she came home from work– keys on the table, purse on the floor, shoes kicked off halfway between the door and the couch, and jacket tossed onto the back of the chair before she collapsed onto the loveseat and moaned about her feet hurting.

This time she had to hike her dress up to her mid-thigh in order to bend her knee, the other leg dangling off the couch.  “How was the opening?” he asked, trying to keep his voice neutral.  He closed his book and locked his eyes on her face.

“It went fine, but I’m exhausted.  Too long on my feet in a way-too-tight dress.”

Way-too-tight was a bit of an understatement.  The light purple dress fit her like a second skin, with a dramatic scoop neck that showed off her collarbones and revealed just enough cleavage to make him feel like a perv.  “You look nice though,” he managed.

“You think?” she asked, straightening.  “I was worried it might be a bit much.”

“Just right,” he said, his throat tight.

“Well, either way I’ve gotta get out of it,” Clarke said breezily, and turned around.  The back had a line of tiny buttons that started just below the nape of her neck and ran down to the curve of her ass.  “Mind getting this started?”

“How did you get into this?” he asked to buy himself time.

“I met Raven for dinner and changed in the restaurant bathroom.  Did you forget how buttons work?” she teased, glancing back over her shoulder.

 _Get a goddamn grip, Blake,_  he chided himself, and undid the top button.   _Plenty of people have crushes on their best friends and get over it.  So what if she has perfect skin._   He undid the second and the third, and then realized he had at least a dozen more to go before he even reached the bottom of her shoulder blades.  His fingertips brushed her skin with each pass and goosebumps erupted in their wake.

“Bellamy?” she asked quietly, looking back at him again.  

“Yeah?”

She twisted to look him in the eye and the dress went slack around her shoulders, slipping down and baring acres of skin.  Slowly, Clarke tilted her chin up and brought her lips up to meet his.

Bellamy was so stunned he could barely react, but his body took over before his brain caught up.  He captured her face in her hands and slid his tongue inside her mouth, exploring her even while klaxons sounded in his brain that he’d tipped into full-on hallucinations.

Clarke broke away, grinned, and hitched her dress higher up her thighs so she could straddle him.  “This is…going to change things,” he breathed, hardly able to process what had just happened.

“Do you not want them to change?”

“I didn’t say that,” he replied and rested his hands on the flare of her waist.

Clarke grinned.  “Good.  Because I only bought this dress so you could take it off.”


	57. guess who

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> From a twitter thread of baseless s5 spec this morning.

Bellamy strained against his bonds when the door opened and a guard shoved a small, bound form forward.  The Eligius crew had been keeping him in one of their– apparently many– prison cells on the ship, and he didn’t know if that meant the other cells were all full, or if they just didn’t give a shit about putting more than one prisoner together.

The door slammed shut and Bellamy squinted at the new prisoner.  She threw herself against the door and began hammering at it with her fists and shouting, demanding to be let out.  She was young, far younger than anyone he’d seen on the ship, and for a moment he wondered if she was a plant, there to trap him into something.  Into what, he couldn’t figure, since he was currently chained to a wall already, but the something about her clothes gave him pause.

They were  _colorful._   He hadn’t seen any colors other than black or grey on the miners, and all of their clothing bore the hallmarks of repurposed uniforms, either prisoner or guard.  But this girl was wearing things that had been  _scavenged._

She was a grounder.

That meant there were survivors.

“Hey,” he called, and she whirled around, seeing him for the first time.  “I won’t hurt you,” he said, and held up his chained hands.

She eyed him warily and stayed as far from him as humanly possible.  “Who are you?” she asked.

“Their prisoner.  And if you are too, then maybe we’re on the same side.”   This girl was too old to have been born after Praimfaya, he realized.  He fought against the tiny spark of hope in his chest.   _Just because she survived doesn’t mean Clarke did.  She was probably sheltered from the blast; Clarke was caught out in it._   “I’m Bellamy.  What’s your name?”

Something like a smile flickered across her face. “Madi.  I’ve heard of you, you know.”

That familiar pang of guilt twanged in his stomach.  He’d never outrun what he did with Pike, even after the world burned to the ground. “Whatever you heard, I won’t hurt you,” he assured her.  “I’ve got people on the outside and they’ll be coming for me.  We just need to be ready.”

Her eyes flickered at the mention of the others, but Bellamy didn’t have time to ponder the meaning of that. He talked her through his plan and she nodded along, even offering to pretend to be injured so it would bring a guard running.  He just had to hope that Echo had rallied the others for a rescue attempt and sat back to wait and listen for the sounds of it.

He was about to ask Madi to tell him how she’d survived– he wanted to know who else they would be dealing with– but a loud explosion rocked the ship.  He motioned for Madi to be silent and when he could make out the sounds of fighting, he turned to her.  “It’s my people.  We need them to know where we are.”

She nodded and immediately started whacking her handcuffs against the door.  _Smart girl,_  he thought to himself and slammed his chains against the metal pipe.  He shouted, over and over again, and so did Madi, until someone outside yelled for them to back away from the door.  Madi ran to him and he just had enough time to throw his body over hers when the door blew open and Raven stepped in with a pleased grin on her face, half hidden by the helmet she was wearing.  “Miss me, Blake?”

“Cute,” he replied sardonically, picking himself and Madi up off the ground.  “Got anything for these?” he asked and held up his chains.

“Looks like you found a kid,” Raven observed and pulled out a portable blowtorch.  She had him free of his chains in seconds and Madi just a moment later.  “I’m Raven,” she said, and Madi rubbed her wrists gratefully.  Raven handed Bellamy another helmet and he put it on, bringing the blast shield down to cover his face.

“I know,” Madi said, but before Bellamy could wonder how she knew Raven, another explosion shook the ship.

“That’ll be Echo, and that’s our cue to go.  Murphy’s holding the corner.  Can you run, kid?”

“I can,” Madi said proudly.

“Then run like hell and don’t stop until you get to the woods.  The rest of our people are there.  They might be spooked by you, but they won’t hurt a kid, I promise.”

“I know,” Madi said again.  “She said–”

“Raven,  _now,_ ” Murphy bellowed from down the hall. Bellamy grabbed Madi’s hand and started running, catching a gun Murphy tossed him as they sprinted past.

“Keep going!” he yelled at Madi and crouched down behind a pillar to lay down cover fire.  Madi ran, zig-zagging to make herself a more difficult target, and Bellamy waited until Raven and Murphy had passed him to pick up and start running again.

He made it to the woods just a second before Echo, and everyone started to sprint back to the rocket.  But after a quarter mile at a dead run, they were lagging– real gravity was more tiring than generated gravity– and Madi took a sharp left.  “This way!” she called over her shoulder.  “You’ll be safe over here.”

Echo and Raven looked to him and he made a split second decision to trust this girl and whoever raised her.  He nodded and everyone fell into pace behind Madi, hurtling through the woods as the sounds of the Eligius pursuit faded away.  They slowed their pace slightly and the trees started clearing.  Madi looked back at him, a huge smile on her face.  “She’s going to be so excited to see you,” she said, and bolted across the meadow to a small, blue hut.  “Clarke!” she yelled, and Bellamy’s heart stopped.

His feet stopped too, and everyone behind him drew up short.  A compact blonde woman burst out of the hut barely two yards away, gun drawn.  She looked like the Clarke he remembered with small changes– shorter hair, leaner muscles– and Bellamy blinked rapidly.   _She was dead.  She was dead, but she’s standing right there._   “It’s me, and look who I found,” Madi said, and Clarke lifted her gun to aim at the rest of them.  They were wearing helmets, he remembered through his shock, and she couldn’t see their faces.  

But Raven beat him to it and tossed her helmet aside.  Clarke stared at Raven’s face in disbelief.  “It’s us, Clarke,” Raven said, gently.

Clarke slowly lowered her gun and stepped forward. She touched Raven’s cheek like she was seeing if she was real, and Raven lowered her forehead to press against Clarke’s.  Clarke took a shaky breath and straightened, her eyes scanning the rest of the group only to stop on him.  “Bellamy?” she whispered, and he dropped his gun and pulled off his helmet.  A slow smile spread across her face at the sight of him, and it felt like seeing a sunrise for the first time.  

Bellamy didn’t remember moving and didn’t remember Clarke taking a step, but somehow she was in his arms.  She buried her face in his neck and he tucked his nose into her hair, squeezing her so tightly he was sure she couldn’t breathe but he couldn’t let go, not for anything.  He felt her heart thumping against his and his brain finally realized that this was real and not some cruel trick.  He blinked, not realizing he’d been crying, and Clarke pulled back just enough to look him in the eye.  She was crying too, her cheeks wet, and she wiped away a tear from his cheekbone with her thumb.  “Took you long enough,” she chided, half-laughing, half-crying.

“You know me, princess,” he said thickly.  “I like to make an entrance.”


	58. remembrance day

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> From an anon request for something sparked by the photo of the Space Squad trying algae.

  
  
“There you are,” Clarke chided gently.  She put her foot on the wheel and hefted herself onto the roof of the rover.  Bellamy moved over to make space for her and she leaned back, resting against the windshield. **  
**

He watched her study the stars, his chest tight.  He still felt like he was in a dream and that soon enough he’d jerk back awake on the Ark into a cold, empty compartment.  But the dream kept going, on and on, and he could feel the heat radiating off of her.  Ghosts and dreams didn’t have heat, of that he was sure, but having her back was more than he could have imagined and he didn’t fully trust his senses.

Clarke rested her head on his shoulder and he wondered if she’d been as starved for touch in those six years as he had been.  He had noticed her touching them more often than he remembered, just a hand to Raven’s knee or a brush against Monty’s shoulder, but then again he had only known her for less than a year and a lifetime ago.  Maybe his memories of Clarke weren’t as crystal clear and accurate as he had believed them to be.  Maybe the woman he thought she was had been embroidered over with his grief and he’d lost sight of her.

Clarke sighed and snuggled closer, and he let his doubts fade.  Bellamy lifted his arm and let her pillow her head on the soft space between his shoulder and his chest, her eyes still trained above them.  “What was it like?” she asked.

Bellamy idly carded his fingers through her hair, still surprised when he found the shorn, blunt ends.  “The Ark?” he said, his voice rough.  “Pretty boring.”

“Boring sounds nice.  I’d like to hear about boring,” she said, and he could hear her smile.

Truth be told, Bellamy could barely remember the first six months back on the Ark.  That time was lost to him in a haze of sorrow and anguish, but he didn’t want to burden her with that.  He rifled through his memories and shifted her infinitesimally closer.  “The first time Monty made algae for us we all puked,” he said, and Clarke snorted.

“Even Harper?”

“Especially Harper, but Monty doesn’t know about that.  And to be fair, Echo mostly kept hers down and Murphy didn’t even try.”

Clarke laughed, a sound he had thought he’d never hear again.  “Madi and I celebrated Unity Day,” she offered.  “I made her learn the pageant lines and everything.”

“We made Murphy reenact it on his own every year,” Bellamy said drily.  

Clarke lifted her head to look down at him, the moon dimming in comparison.  “You’re joking,” she said.

“I am, yeah,” he said, a smile playing at the corner of his mouth.  “But I did suggest it.”

Clarke snorted again and returned to her spot on his chest, her arm coming to lie protectively over his stomach.  His chin was already tucked down as far as it could go, but if he craned his neck just so he could press his lips to her temple.  “We– we made a new holiday,” he admitted, his voice suddenly shaky.  “Well, not really a holiday.  More like…a memorial.”  Clarke grew quiet and somber, but her hand started stroking up and down his torso, a gentle, calming motion.  “We called it Remembrance Day.”

“Your idea?”

“Echo’s,” he admitted.  “The first year was…rough.  She thought if we all had one day to remember–” he broke off and cleared his throat.  “One day to remember the people we lost, we wouldn’t be in a constant state of mourning.”

“Did it work?”

 _I still woke up screaming to dreams of you burning alive; I still couldn’t bring myself to look at the charred remains of the ground, knowing you were there; I couldn’t get you out of my head no matter how much moonshine I drank,_  he wanted to say.  

But instead he let out a long, slow exhalation, and Clarke sat to brush her lips against his jaw.  He brought his arm down, curling it around her back to keep her pressed against him, and breathed her in.   “A bit,” he admitted.  “But this– this helps more.”


	59. December 22nd, 4:45pm

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I solicited some prompts on tumblr, and @sly20 (and @swishywillow) came through. This isn't for Swishy, though.
> 
> She knows what she did.

The last day before Christmas break was, as a rule, the most worthless day of the year.  The students were all wired and scattered, and Clarke didn’t care enough to try and keep them on task.  She gave her ceramics class a free day and told her watercolors class that as long as it was Christmas themed, they could paint it.  It wasn’t the best pedagogical method in the world, but fuck it, she was just as ready for break as they were. **  
**

And of course it would start snowing during sixth period, because the only thing that makes high school students even less focused on the last day before Christmas is snow.  Her entire seventh and eighth period classes were basically zoos, and by the time the last bell rang Clarke had a hell of a tension headache building behind her eyeballs.  But she still had supplies to clean up, paints to put away, and a stack of worksheets on perspective to grade before she could go home.

Bellamy walked past her door without looking at her and she shoved down a stab of guilt.  She had gotten off on the wrong foot with the history teacher the first week of inservices and now he hated her, and she couldn’t exactly blame him.  She’d been terrified of the new school and Clarke hid her terror behind a thick layer of aggression and confidence, and Bellamy had kept bumping up against that wall in all the wrong ways.  But she’d seen him with his students— and with the other teachers— and she wished they could start over.  He was someone who would be a good ally to have, maybe even a friend.  But that wasn’t something she could fix now, so she turned her attention back to the worksheets.

By the time Clarke finished grading and bundled herself up to leave, at least five inches had fallen.  She’d have to dig her car out of the snow and then spend a solid hour driving home, despite only living 20 miles away.  But at least she could curl up with a bottle of wine tonight and celebrate the two solid weeks of freedom ahead of her.

Clarke ducked her head against the wind and made her way to the faculty parking lot.  She fumbled through her mittens for her keys, and when she looked up she drew up short.

Because there was Bellamy, finishing up brushing off her car.  Clarke blinked, wondering if maybe she had the wrong car, but no, she could just make out her marriage equality bumper sticker through the slush stuck to the bumper.

Bellamy looked over his shoulder and winced.  He stopped brushing off the roof and stepped back awkwardly, like she’d caught him doing something illegal.  “I think you’ve got the wrong car,” Clarke said in a tone that aimed for teasing.  

He cracked a half smile.  “I saw you were still finishing up, and…” he trailed off and pushed a clump of wet, heavy snow off her side mirror.

“And?” Clarke prompted, grinning.

“And…I thought I could do something nice for you.  To make up for being a dick.”

“Any particular time you’re apologizing for?” she asked, because his smile had broadened along with hers.

“All of them?”

Clarke bit her lower lip.  Snowflakes kept catching in her eyelashes and melting, and she blinked it away.  “Well, I was kind of an ass to you too.  Think we could start over?”

“I’d like that,” Bellamy said, so enthusiastically her heart did a stutter step.  “But you should get going before the snow starts piling up again and undoes my hard work.”

Clarke unlocked her door and squeezed past him to the driver’s side door.  “Thanks, Bellamy,” she said, and before she could second guess herself she brushed a kiss to his cheek.  His skin was cold under her lips but he didn’t jerk back at the press of her mouth to the corner of his jaw.  He seemed rooted to the spot.

“Enjoy your break,” he said, and maybe it was her imagination, but his voice seemed a bit rougher.

“You too, Bellamy,” Clarke said, and climbed into her car.

All of a sudden, two weeks seemed almost too long.


	60. I want your midnights

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Inspired by New Year's Day by Taylor Swift.

Clarke woke up with the trepidation that could only follow a night of heavy drinking.  Gingerly, she lifted her head and blew out a sigh of relief when it only pounded instead of sending the world rocking like a ship in the middle of the Atlantic.  She rolled her her side and pushed herself up, her muscles aching from dehydration but her stomach blessedly still.  The rest of the house was silent and still, and outside thick, fluffy snowflakes fell.  Raven was breathing deeply in the twin bed on the other side of the room, covers tangled around her waist.  

The slopes were usually quiet on New Year’s Day as everyone recovered from their activities the night before and Clarke decided once she’d had some breakfast she’d leave a note for everyone and go for a few runs on her own. She could already feel the crisp wind and snow hitting her cheeks in the solitude of the black diamond run on the eastern side of the mountain.  She’d been itching to try it, but everyone else was basically a downhill novice and she’d felt bad ditching them, so here was a golden opportunity.  She found a thick fleece on the bench at the foot of her bed and pulled it on before tiptoeing downstairs.  She cast a look at the door where Bellamy was staying with Roan and told herself to keep walking.  

As she drew closer to the kitchen she could make out the soft sounds of water running and glasses clinking. She paused with her foot on the last step and Bellamy looked up from the sink.  The sleeves of his navy hoodie were pushed up to his elbows and he was wearing glasses— something she didn’t know he owned— and he looked amazingly sheepish to be caught doing the dishes.

“You don’t have to do that,” Clarke said, keeping her voice low so as to not wake Monty and Miller on the pull-out sofa in the next room.  “I figured we’d all clean up before brunch together.”

“I was up,” Bellamy said with a shrug and went back to rinsing out the glass in his hand.  He put it in the mostly-full dishwasher and tipped his head towards the counter behind him.  “There’s coffee, if you want.”

Clarke walked over to the kitchen table and picked up several plates the with remnants of nachos cemented to the rims.  She deposited them on the counter and poured herself a mug, grabbing the empty one near Bellamy’s elbow and refilling it for him.  He nodded in thanks and dunked the plates into the soapy water pooled in the sink.  “You could leave that for me,” she said, lifting the steaming mug to her lips.

Bellamy shrugged again.  “You provided this place for New Year’s Eve.  It’s the least I can do.”

“It’s not like my mom and Marcus were using it,” Clarke said.  She felt oddly tense around him, like they were edging around talking about something.  When Octavia had announced he was coming for New Year’s Eve because he’d just broken up with his girlfriend, Clarke hadn’t felt like she could say no, even though that was her first instinct.  She and Bellamy didn’t exactly hit it off the first time they met, but the past few days had been surprisingly free of bickering.  When they argued it felt more like banter, and last night they’d stood shoulder to shoulder on the deck and watched the snow fall while their friends played a drunken round of charades in front of the fire.  She’d gone from disliking him to feeling like they could be friends, or…more.

In fact, all day yesterday it felt like they were building to something, the air between them thickening every time they spoke.  She’d had to consciously keep from touching him needlessly, and more than once she saw his eyes dip to her amply displayed cleavage.  But when Jasper announced it was time for the count down, Bellamy melted away.  When she finally found him— at the count of three— he was safely positioned on the other side of the room, tucked between Miller and the wall.  So she exchanged cheek kisses with Harper instead and told herself she was imagining the way Bellamy had looked at her just an hour before.  She told herself she was stupid for thinking he was interested in more.

But now he was looking at her that way again, his eyes dark and soft in a way that made her heart curl.  Clarke leaned against the cabinets next to the dishwasher and tipped her head to the side.  She watched the way his eyes immediately went to the curve of her neck and then flicked back up to her face, almost like he had been caught doing something he shouldn’t.

Clarke licked her lips and Bellamy did too.  “You disappeared last night,” she chided gently.

“I didn’t go anywhere,” he replied, his tone mild.  

“We spent all night talking and thirty seconds before midnight you suddenly had urgent business with Miller?”  Her heart was pounding, but Clarke was nothing if not bold when it came to what she wanted.  

Bellamy looked away and wiped his hands on a dishtowel.  He picked up his coffee but stopped before he took a sip, curling his other hand around it for warmth.  “I figured it was best.”

“For who?”

“Both of us,” he said.  “I shouldn’t—I shouldn’t want you.”

Clarke’s mouth went dry at the word  _want_ , but she kept her expression neutral.  “Why not?”

He gestured at the kitchen and living room spread out behind them.  “This kitchen is almost bigger than the apartment I grew up in, Clarke.  This isn’t even your house; it’s your  _vacation_  house, and it’s nicer than any place I’ve ever stayed.  We come from very different worlds.”

“Octavia doesn’t have a problem with it,” Clarke replied.  “And I’d think the guy who has delivered at least six monologues about the theft perpetrated on the proletariat by capitalism would understand that me being rich doesn’t mean you don’t deserve me.”

“It’s not about  _deserve_ , Clarke.  It’s— “ he broke off at the sound of a muffled snore from the living room, but when neither Monty nor Miller stirred, he looked back at her.  “I can get angry.  Really angry.  Bitter, even, and you— you represent everything I hated growing up, you know?”

Clarke’s heart sank and her stomach churned.  “So you hate me? Even after everything?”

“Not in the slightest,” he said with a heat that surprised her.  “I just have a habit of ruining things.  And I don’t want to do that to you.”

“So you think kissing me on New Year’s Eve will inevitably lead to a horrific breakup in six months because we come from different socioeconomic classes?” Clarke asked, lifting her eyebrow in amusement.  “That sounds a little like putting the cart before the horse, in my opinion.”

Bellamy reached out and traced her jawline with his finger, his touch light but sure.  “I still shouldn’t want you,” he said quietly.  “If we—”

“If we what?” Clarke said, stepping closer to him.  The sink dripped, a mushy drop slapping against the edge of a plate.  “If we kiss, is that really such a catastrophe?”

“You don’t know my history with dating. And being an asshole.”

“Whatever yours is, mine is probably worse.  And it’s just a kiss— no one said anything about dating.”

His mouth quirked into an unwilling smile and Bellamy’s fingers threaded through her hair.  She knew she’d won, but she didn’t want to celebrate just yet.  “You know it wouldn’t be just a kiss,” Bellamy said, and she felt a bolt of need shoot through her body at the rough edges of his voice.  “It couldn’t be.”

“I still think it’s worth finding out,” Clarke murmured.  Her heart was pounding so loudly she figured everyone else in the house could hear it.  Bellamy’s gaze dropped to her lips and he tilted her head up.

His lips were bitter, like coffee, but his tongue was sweet.  Clarke tangled her fingers in his messy curls and tugged his face down to kiss him harder.  Heat raced through her veins with every brush of his lips and Clarke bit back a needy moan.

Footsteps on the stairs made them spring apart like startled cats, and Clarke knew she was blushing when Roan yawned loudly and walked barefoot into the kitchen.  “Is there coffee?” he asked, oblivious.

“Over there,” Clarke managed, and stole a look at Bellamy.  His lips were swollen and his hair mussed, and his eyes were burning into her.  It made it hard to breathe and she looked away.

Because he was right— it wasn’t just a kiss.


	61. Sparring (Bellamy/Echo)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> An anon pissed me off so I wrote revenge space!becho, because I'm mature like that.

There wasn’t much to do on the Ark, all things considered.  There were the long term projects— readying the rocket for reentry, monitoring the ground for signs of life, making sure the oxygen scrubbers kept working— and the short term projects, like growing algae so they didn’t starve to death and keeping the remnants of the Ark clean, but that was it.  Most of Bellamy’s day was spent trying to keep busy and not go insane with only six other people for company.  He started running laps around the ring— five laps equaled about a mile— and doing pull ups just to break up the monotony.   **  
**

It was Echo who suggested hand-to-hand combat lessons.  “You could use them,” she said drily.  

“I’m not that bad,” he groused, releasing his grip on the doorway and landing light on his feet.  His biceps burned a little from the strain, but he appreciated it.  It made him feel alive in a way he didn’t most of the time up here.  The Ark was too full of bad memories, and looking at the ground— well, that wasn’t any better for him.

Echo leaned back against the opposite wall.  “What else are you going to do?” she observed.  “Or are you afraid I’ll kick your ass again?”  She said the last bit with a sly grin that Bellamy couldn’t help but return.  In the two years they’d been up on the Ark, he’d come to understand her a little better than before.  Echo played her cards close to her chest, even more so than Bellamy, but there was an undercurrent of loyalty to her that he recognized and respected.  He wasn’t sure he could ever fully forgive her past actions, but he knew that holding onto that pain wouldn’t help anyone.

Head, not heart.

“All right, whatcha got?” he said, and they stepped into his compartment.  He shoved the small table and chair they’d found in storage into the corner and tossed his jacket onto his bed.  Echo sized him up and picked up the broom he’d left standing in the corner.  She twisted the brush off the bottom and threw the stick to him, disappearing for a moment and returning with what he recognized as the mop handle clutched between her fists.

“Do your best,” she challenged, and sank into a fighting stance.  She held her staff parallel to the floor, her eyes darting as she tracked his movements.

Bellamy tested the weight of his own stick, twirling it a few times to get a feel for it, and sank down into his own stance.  He judged the distance between the two of them, considered his options, and launched his attack.

He barely glanced his staff against hers before Echo had dodged his swing and swept his leg out from under him.  He went down with a grunt and she fought a smile.  “See?” she said, as if they were picking up an old conversation.  “You’re still too open.”

“Still?”

“I’ve beaten you in combat before, Bellamy Blake,” she said, eyes dancing.  “You show me your moves before you do them.  You need to learn to lie.”

Bellamy blew out a breath between his teeth.  “I have no idea how to do that,” he admitted.

“Then I’ll teach you,” she replied simply, and for the next hour, they sparred.  Echo showed him how to feint, how to flick his eyes in one direction while really gathering information in the other, and how to shift his weight at the last minute to preserve the element of surprise.  Bellamy considered asking Echo who he was going to be fighting against— the only living beings left on earth were the bunker, assuming the worst hadn’t happened— but he let it go because the sparring matches were a good distraction.  

Echo was roughly the same height as him, but her long, lean limbs had a lightness his didn’t quite seem to match.  She spun around him like a dancer and before long they were both covered in a thin sheen of sweat, chests heaving with the effort.  They were both grinning freely now, and every time Bellamy’s back hit the metal she preened in triumph.  He had rarely seen this side of her, even after nearly 800 days trapped in a metal ring in space.  He was still losing to her, but not as badly as at the start, and it was taking her longer and longer to pin him.

After a round where he ended up with her knees pressed into his biceps, he let Echo pull him up and wiped the sweat dripping down his face.  “Where’d you learn to fight?” he asked, because of everyone on the Ark, he still knew the least about Echo.  Even Emori had opened up by now, but he knew precious little about Echo’s childhood.

“I was trained by the palace guards,” she said, pausing to redo her ponytail.  

“When?”

“Nia’s people took me from my village when I was five.”

Bellamy blinked.  He had a hunch she’d started young, but five?  “What about your family?”

“What about them?” she shrugged.  “I hardly remember them.  And they’re dead now.”  She said it so flatly that his heart twisted, thinking of Octavia.  They hadn’t been able to contact the bunker, and even though Raven was sure it was a radio malfunction and not a catastrophic failure of the bunker, he still worried.  Echo must have noticed, because her face softened slightly.  “They died in a fever when I was eleven.  And those in the bunker are still alive; I have faith.” she said, and there was nothing about her that could be described as  _gentle,_ but he knew an effort when he saw one.

“Thank you,” he said, a smile flickering across his face.  He glanced at her shoulder and saw a small trickle of blood.  “I hurt you,” he said, reaching to take her wrist in his hand.

“It’s a scratch,” Echo shrugged.  “It’ll heal.”

“Still,” he said, inspecting it.  It was just a scratch, like she said, and he let her arm drop.  For the last hour they had been pressed skin-to-skin as they sparred, but now, with just inches of air between them, it suddenly felt different.  Bellamy licked his lips and watched Echo’s pupils dilate, her lush, full lips parted.

Something stirred deep in his belly.  Something he’d thought was long dead, left behind on the ashes of the ground.  He lifted a hand and ran his thumb across her lower lip, curving his palm along her jaw.  He waited and let her close the distance between them, her lips meeting his softly at first, and then with an urgency that surprised them both.  His tongue sought hers and Echo slipped her hands under the hem of his shirt.  Her fingers skimmed across his abdomen and then up his back, her nails dragging across his skin and making him shiver.  Bellamy dragged his mouth down to her throat, nipping softly at her pulse point and licking a drop of sweat that pooled at her collarbone.

Echo dropped her head back and groaned, loud enough for anyone outside the compartment to hear.  “Shhh,” he growled into her ear, and shoved her back against the wall.  She met his gaze with that familiar challenge curving along her lips and palmed him roughly through his pants.  Now it was his turn to groan, and together they stripped themselves bare.

She ended up perched on the edge of the table while he knelt before her, his stubble abrading the thin skin of her inner thighs while he thrust his tongue inside of her.  She was musky and sweet at once, and he liked the feel of her legs draped across his shoulders almost as much as he liked the needy sounds dripping from her lips.  Her nails dug into his scalp and she refused to let him move his head away, pressing him closer and closer to her center until he swirled his tongue around her clit and made her fall apart.  The muscles that squeezed his fingers were strong and sure, just like her, and her peak rolled through her like a wave.

Bellamy was inside of her before she even finished coming, and the way her walls welcomed him inside of her made him see black.  She wrapped her legs around his waist and gripped his shoulders tightly, letting him pound into her so hard the table shook.  It didn’t take long before heat coiled at the base of his spine and then unfurled, his cock emptying into her with a force that surprised him.

For the space of a few heartbeats, they stayed still.  Echo’s arms were around his neck and her lips against his throat, his pulse thundering against her lips.  He waited for the guilt he knew was coming but when it arrived it was curiously muted, as if behind a thick layer of glass.  He dropped his forehead to her shoulder and Echo brushed his sweaty, mussed hair back.  “We should get dressed,” she murmured, and sure enough their skin was already cooling in the recycled air.  But when he pulled out of her, grief didn’t hit him like a hammer the way he expected.  He handed her her leggings and Echo found his shirt, and they redressed quietly, but without shame.  

And when she opened his compartment door and smiled at him, he smiled back.

 

 


	62. When the world is too noisy to sleep

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A birthday gift for Kacka, the best birthday buddy a girl could ask for.

For six years, the world had been too quiet.  With just Madi to talk to— and precious few animals, especially the first few years— the world had been silent as a tomb most of the time.  It had driven Clarke nearly mad, and when everyone came back to her in the span of two weeks, she’d rejoiced in the cacophony of the people she loved. **  
**

But now it felt too noisy.  Even at night, when everyone was asleep, Clarke’s small compound was filled with sounds.  Cots creaked and people snored, and guards paced the perimeter with guns that clicked and boots that snapped twigs and crushed leaves under their heels.  It felt odd, resenting the noise when she’d spent so long wishing for it, but nothing had been the way she imagined.  Her mother refused to speak of what happened in the bunker, and Octavia and Kane looked haunted.  Abby had taken to Madi the way Clarke knew she would, of course, but there was a guilt in Abby’s eyes whenever she looked at Clarke that made Clarke’s skin prickle.

And Bellamy— Clarke had wanted him to come back to her for so long, and now that he was here she didn’t know what to say to him.  He’d changed more than she imagined, and even though she’d told herself over and over again to expect him to change, part of her was still surprised he had.  It wasn’t just the beard, either.  There was a peace to him that hadn’t been there before, a stillness, a deliberateness that surprised her.  The Bellamy she remembered had never hesitated— that had been her role.  But now he was the one preaching caution and diplomacy in dealing with Eligius while Clarke urged action.  It made her feel off-kilter, like the time the canoe she made tipped over and suddenly she was under water and didn’t know which way was up.

Clarke threw off her blankets and decided to go for a walk rather than toss and turn some more, but she hadn’t gone more than fifty yards when a guard challenged her.  “No one leaves camp at night without a direct order from Octavia,” the woman from the bunker explained.

Clarke fought the instinct to argue and walked over to the fire instead, picking up a stick from the ground and tossing it petulantly into the crackling flames.  “Can’t sleep?” Bellamy’s deep, reassuring voice asked from behind her shoulder.

Clarke shrugged.  She had spent six years imagining telling him everything, memorizing details so when he came back there wouldn’t be any space between them, no moment left untouched.  But now he was here, real and solid and warm and standing just behind her, and she couldn’t find the words. “Too noisy,” she said gruffly.

Bellamy fell silent and she hoped he’d walk away, leave her alone with her black mood.  “I’ve got an idea,” he said, and Clarke risked a look back at him.

She couldn’t read his expression.  She hated that— not knowing what Bellamy was thinking was unimaginable to her once upon a time, but now it felt like he was a stranger.  But she nodded and let him lead her around the corner from the outbuildings to the rover.  Bellamy grabbed an extra sleeping bag from the bunker’s stash and handed it to her, opening the back of the rover as he did so.  “I slept in here last night,” he explained.  “I’d forgotten how goddamn loud crickets are.”

“Those are frogs,” she said, a tiny smile creeping across her face.  She accepted the sleeping bag and lifted herself into the back.  She and Madi had slept in here countless times, but only when they were scavenging. It hadn’t occurred to her to use it at the compound.  Bellamy paused with his hand on the door and she looked at him awkwardly.

“Sleep well, Clarke,” Bellamy said.

“Wait,” she said when he went to shut the door.  “Didn’t you finish your guard shift a few hours ago?”

“So?”

Clarke narrowed her eyes, piecing it all together.  “You can’t sleep either, can you?  You were going to sleep in here again.”

“It’s fine.  I got a decent night’s sleep last night.  It’s your turn.”

“There’s plenty of space,” she said impulsively.  “We could…share.”  She felt unaccountably nervous in offering, mostly because in the two weeks since he’d been back she hadn’t been able to figure out just what he and Echo were to each other.  She didn’t think they were together, but then sometimes there would be a moment of familiarity— her hand on his lower back, or him smiling at something Echo said in a council meeting— and Clarke would be plunged back into uncertainty.  It felt silly and selfish to admit she was jealous he had moved on, but she was.

“I snore,” he warned.

“Better one person snoring than three dozen,” she replied.

Bellamy looked back towards the compound and nodded.  He took a second sleeping bag and climbed in after her, waiting for her to scoot over to one side before unrolling his pack.  Sharing with Madi had been easy, but Madi was considerably smaller than Bellamy and definitely didn’t have shoulders as broad, so it took a few moments of shuffling and fumbling before they were comfortably laying side-by-side.

Clarke rested her cheek on her folded arm and considered him.  It was darker in here, and much quieter.  She could hear his slow, even breathing.  “Who told you you snore?” she asked quietly.  There were plenty of people who could have told him that, she reasoned— his mother or Octavia or Gina, or even Miller.  But she had a deeper reason for asking, and she couldn’t stop herself.

Bellamy didn’t respond right away.  “Echo,” he said finally.

Clarke hated herself for her jealousy.  It sat uneasily in her gut, curdling and churning, competing with anger and regret and a heaping dose of self-censure.  She had no reason to feel this way, because Bellamy had thought she was dead for six years and he was never even hers in the first place.  She had no claim to him, she’d reminded herself hundreds of times over the past two weeks, and therefore had no right to feel like she’d lost him.  “I’m glad,” she made herself say, because she was, truly.  She wanted him to be happy and whole, and if Echo was the person who made him happy now, she’d learn to live with it and wouldn’t let jealousy poison her.  She’d let Bellamy go and be happy with her family having come back to her, and that would have to be enough.

Bellamy made a soft sound like a snort.  “She told me when we were breaking up last year,” he said, and he sounded like he was smiling.  “Said she was glad not to have to sleep next to someone who snored like a bear anymore.”

Clarke wasn’t sure what to say to that.  “Oh,” she said, so he’d know she was listening.  “I’m…sorry?”

Bellamy’s sleeping bag rustled like he was shrugging.  “We both knew it wouldn’t last.  But there wasn’t much to do up there, aside from each other.”  

Clarke let out a surprised giggle at that.  “So I spent six years fighting for my life and becoming a surrogate mom while you spent six years having sex with everyone?” she teased.

“More or less,” he said, chuckling.  “Not Murphy though.  I still draw the line with him.  He did try to hang me, after all.”

“Only because you tried to hang him first,” Clarke laughed, and Bellamy barked out a laugh.

It felt good to laugh with Bellamy, and Clarke felt the thick wall of glass that had surrounded her since they returned start to crack.  More than once someone from the Ark would say something and Bellamy would laugh unexpectedly, clearly an inside joke, and Clarke would feel more lonely than ever.  But maybe this was just temporary— maybe she could work her way back to them, even if she’d never share those same experiences.  She couldn’t make up for what they’d lost, but they could make new memories.

Clarke fidgeted to get more comfortable, and Bellamy’s arm came down around her shoulders.  “Here,” he said, and shifted her so she was resting on his chest instead.  “That okay?”

Clarke blinked back unexpected tears.  In the six years post-praimfaya she’d slept with Madi curled into her hundreds of times, but that was different.  Clarke was Madi’s comfort then, and whatever peace it gave her to have Madi slumbering in her arms was profoundly different from this moment.  She curled around him, letting his warmth seep into her bones, and draped her arm over his chest.  “I talked to you,” she admitted.  “Every day.  I’d pull out the radio wherever we were and I’d try to contact you, and then I’d tell you about my day.”

Bellamy’s muscles tightened at her confession.  “The ark?” he said carefully.  “Or me?”

“You.”  She took a deep, shuddering breath. “You were what kept me sane, more than anything.  The memory of you, of how much you believed in me, of— just you.”  Her throat was thick with unshed tears and Bellamy carded his hand through her hair.

He cleared his throat.  “I talked to you too,” he said.  “It was different, because I never thought I’d see you again.  I thought you were gone, but I couldn’t let go.  I tried, I really did, because I thought you’d want me to, but I couldn’t.  So on nights when it felt too much, or when I was going crazy from having to see the same six people over and over again, I’d find your mugshot in the database and ask you what to do.”

Clarke nuzzled closer to him, the pain in his voice like a knife to her heart.  “What did the others say about that?”

“I never told them.  They’d think I was crazy.”

“Why tell me?”

Bellamy pressed his chin into his chest to look down at her.  The light was dim, barely enough for her to make out his pupils, but his eyes were glassy.  “Because that’s what we do.  We tell each other things we can’t tell anyone else,” he said roughly.

A wave of emotion threatened to overwhelm her, so she steered them into calmer waters.  “My mugshot isn’t exactly the best picture of me,” she said lightly.

“I thought it was nice,” he replied, matching her tone.  

She felt like ice in the grip of a spring thaw, slowly drip-drip-dripping back into being.  Clarke put her head back down on Bellamy’s chest and tangled their legs together.  “I missed you,” she whispered into his shirt.  “I missed you so much.”

“I missed you too, princess,” he said, and pressed a kiss to the top of her head.  “But we’re here now.”

The vice squeezing her heart eased slightly.  “Good night, Bellamy.”

“Night, Clarke.”

 

 


	63. memories (real and imagined)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Because the con renewed my desire to write bellarke and I've been meaning to write something like this for ages.

It was a lot to take in. **  
**

Clarke was _alive_  and she had a  _kid_  (of sorts), a nightblood girl who was full of questions about the Ark and Octavia and if he  _really_  broke into Mount Weather on his own.  Bellamy liked Madi— he did, genuinely— but he was overwhelmed.  There was the landing in the ocean and the hike through the deadzone and then finding Clarke and then digging out the bunker, and it hadn’t even been a full week since he last woke up in space.

He was still getting used to the little encampment she shared with Madi, because everywhere he looked was so  _Clarke_ — the colors and practicality and the care she took to make even repurposed junk feel beautiful—  but he’d mourned her and buried her in his heart, and here she was, resurrected from the ashes.  His head was still spinning.

And then there was Madi, who kept watching him thoughtfully.  In the chaos of all the reunions it was easy enough to overlook, but by the third day he was getting twitchy.  He wanted to ask Clarke about it, but that felt strangely presumptuous—  _what did you tell her about me_  made the assumption Clarke had talked about him, and even though he knew she probably had, it still sat uneasily on his shoulders.  He should have been more comfortable with Madi, but after six years of the same six people, he was finding it hard to warm to the girl.

He was finding everything about the adjustment hard, to be perfectly honest.

So he was surprised when Madi sat down next to him one night at the fire and looked up at him with her eyes narrowed.  “She never mentioned a beard,” Madi said bluntly.

“Oh,” he said sheepishly, and ran his hand through the stubble he’d gotten used to several years ago. There didn’t seem to be much point up there, and he hadn’t seen anything even resembling a mirror since they landed.  He’d mostly forgotten it was there.

“Yeah, she drew you a bunch of times, but never with a beard.”

“Well I— wait, what?”

Madi furrowed her brow.  “You haven’t seen?”

“Seen what?”

“The inside of our house.”

 _Oh.  That._   He hadn’t crossed the threshold to Clarke’s small hut, partially because he felt like he was intruding, and partially because the one time he’d been about to, Clarke looked over her shoulder and got fidgety, and he didn’t want to push.  Things with them were so new, somehow, that he felt the need to tread delicately.  “No, I haven’t,” he said carefully.

“Oh, you’ve gotta see it then,” Madi said, and grabbed his arm.

Bellamy couldn’t find the words to say no, and all-too-soon Madi was dragging him through the camp and shoving him under the curtain that served as a front door.  It was just one room, with a fire in the center, and it took Bellamy’s eyes a moment to adjust.  Here, as outside, every inch bore Clarke’s signature.  It was in the soft hammocks hanging from the corners, and in the bright, warm colors that decorated the ceilings.

And in the portraits that lined the walls.  He saw Raven’s first, and her mother’s, and then Kane.  Their people were everywhere, done on paper torn from books and salvaged from who-knows-where, and from all of them, love shined through.  Bellamy’s breath caught in his throat and he found his, hanging just above Raven’s.  He had a scar under his cheek that he’d forgotten getting, and his hair was shorter than it was now, but it was so real it seemed to breathe.

“She’s good,” he said, because he felt like he needed to say something, and cleared his throat.  

“Of course she is,” Madi scoffed.  “But she always complained you were hard to draw.  It’s the curls, I think,” she said, and pointed to the opposite wall.  There he was again, but as Madi said, his curls were a little rougher, less filled in.  Then he saw himself in a third portrait, down near the ground, with the slicked back hair he’d had when they first landed.

“How’d you choose which ones to hang?”  He studied a portrait of Lexa with Anya standing just to her left, fierce and protective.

“Whenever she finished, she’d tell me the story behind it,” Madi explained.  “Sometimes she’d have to make up details because she didn’t know everything, like how Octavia stayed hidden for so long, but she’d tell me everything she knew and then we’d decide if we wanted to hang it or not.  Some of the stories made her too sad, so we didn’t, but then some she said she’d be sad if she  _didn’t_  hang it, so we did anyway,” she added, and pointed to a drawing of bound hands around a stake that had to be Finn’s.

“And some were stories she just made up, like what you guys were doing in space,” Madi said, and Bellamy followed her gaze and snorted.  It was him and Raven, floating outside the Ark with tools in their hands, clearly making repairs.

“She thought I’d go out into zero-g, huh?” he said wryly.

Clarke’s frame filled the door.  “No, I thought it’d be funny if you did.  And if you were wearing a helmet, I didn’t have to bother with your hair.  Showing off, Madi?” she asked warmly.

“I was telling him I didn’t think he’d have a beard,” Madi replied.

“Yeah, well, it’s not something I considered,” Clarke said, her eyes on him.

For the first time, he met Clarke’s gaze without one of them flinching.  “Not something I considered either,” he admitted.

“I like it,” she said, and gave him a half smile he’d imagined hundreds of times in dark, private moments on the Ark.  A smile he had never thought he would ever see again, but there it was, lighting the small room like a lantern.  

He smiled back.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> How many "Bellamy and Clarke are slightly awkward after reuniting" fics can one woman write?
> 
> Stay tuned to find out.


	64. and then the world stopped

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Because I am your one-stop shop for all baseless s5 spec ficlets.

**  
**“You go over there, up in that tree near the cliff,” Clarke instructed, double checking Madi’s gun.  “I’ll get closer, see what I can find out about them.  Stay out of sight, but keep this ready.  If they get too close, fire a warning shot, but a warning shot only, okay?  If it gets any more dangerous, you let me handle things.” **  
**

Madi nodded and glanced towards the rapidly descending ship.  “You’re sure it’s not them?”

Clarke blinked back the sting of those words.  “It can’t be.  That’s not their ship.  I don’t know who they are, or if they’re friendly, so you stay out of sight until I give you the signal.”

“What if they get you?”

“Then you run.  Survive, however you can.  But it won’t come to that, I promise.”  Clarke spared a moment to hug Madi and prayed she wasn’t lying to her.  But her heart was pounding and the whine of the engines filled her ears.  “Go.  Quietly,” she hissed, and grabbed a second gun from the rover.

The ship hovered and lurched, dropping several meters and then pulling back up, as if the person at the controls wasn’t quite sure how to land it.  When it finally touched down it was unevenly, one side meeting the ground gently and the other slamming down with a tooth-jarring thud.  Clarke slithered under a thick growth of underbrush and lifted the rifle scope to her eye.

A gangplank lowered.  She squinted, peering into the dark underbelly of the ship.  A flash of movement.  She positioned her finger on the trigger, just in case.

Three suited, helmeted figures detached themselves from the darkness inside the ship and walked slowly out into the sun.  The hazmat suits made them bulky and shapeless, their movements clumsy.  Clarke risked a look up at Madi’s tree, but she couldn’t see anything.   _Good,_ she thought.   _Stay hidden, my natblida.  Let me handle this._

The lead figure held up a scanner and turned from side to side.  Then they turned back, waved to someone on the ship, and the two others walked down towards the grass.

More hesitation. One bent down and pulled up a clump of dirt.  Clarke’s pulse thundered in her ears.  They had guns, but didn’t appear to be reaching for them.  They thought they were alone.   _Who are you?_  she wanted to scream, but contented herself with taking advantage of their distraction by creeping closer.

She was barely three meters from them now.  They were grouped around another scanner, and when they broke apart the first one took a slow, deliberate— almost reverent— step onto the ground.  The others followed and she could hear muffled cheers under the helmets.  Rustling in the belly of the ship told her more people were coming.

The leader stopped moving and dropped their head back, looking up at the sky.  The gesture was so achingly familiar Clarke inhaled sharply.

His head snapped towards her.

Within four steps, she knew.  She would recognize that gait anywhere, but he slowly reached for his sidearm, unsettled by her gasp.  He was fully facing her now, his back to Madi.

She only had a second.  Clarke jumped to her feet and let her gun dangle from the shoulder strap, hands up.

He stopped walking midstride.  For a heartbeat the world stopped, everything hanging between them.  “Clarke?” His voice was muffled by the helmet but more familiar than her own.

Slowly, a smile spread across her face.  “Bellamy?” she asked, and he lifted his hand to holster his gun.

A gunshot rang out.

And Bellamy crumpled.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know, I know.
> 
> There'll be a part II, I promise.


	65. and then the world stopped (II)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Second part to chapter 64.

Clarke screamed.

Everything seemed to happen in slow motion— Bellamy hitting the ground.  Blood spurting from his shoulder.  The others spinning around with their guns raised. Clarke frantically waving her arms for Madi to stop, for them to stop, for everything to  _stop_.

“Don’t shoot!” she yelled, and one looked back and held up a hand.  She waited a beat, making sure their guns were lowered, and darted forward to Bellamy.  No one else had fired a shot, so Madi was safe, but Bellamy— she couldn’t lose him now.  Not after getting him back.

Someone crouched down next to her.  “How bad is it?” he asked, and she dimly registered Murphy’s voice.  Bellamy had a pulse and the bullet didn’t seem to have hit an artery, but he was losing a lot of blood and his face was already going pale.

Bellamy’s eyes were locked on her, like he was seeing a ghost.  She pressed on the wound with her bare hands, wishing she had her supplies closer.  The rover was a good quarter of a mile away, but maybe she could run back and drive it over.

“I don’t know,” she said shakily, and Bellamy groaned.  Murphy helped her lift him up and look at his back, and she breathed a sigh of relief when she saw the exit wound.  “It’s a through-and-through,” she said, her old training coming back to her.  She hadn’t treated a gunshot in years— six years, to be exact— but it was better to have the bullet out rather than ricocheting inside his chest.  “My place is—”

“We’ve got stuff on the ship,” Murphy interrupted. “Come on,” he ordered, and another person— Echo, she realized— helped him lift Bellamy up.  

Clarke stood stock still, Bellamy’s blood on her hands, because it had been a long, long time since anyone else was around to  _help_.  Madi came pelting out of the treeline, stammering apologies.  “I’m sorry, I thought he was going to shoot you,” she blurted, and Clarke stopped long enough to hug her.  “It’s Bellamy, isn’t it?”

“It is,” she confirmed.  “I think he’s going to be okay, we just— we have to move fast,” she said, and together they ran into the ship.

“Who’s this?” Raven said, and a wave of relief swept through Clarke at the sight of her friend, warring with her internal panic.

“This is Madi.  I’ll explain later.  Where’s—”

“Down the hall and to the left.  There’s a medbay there, but it’d be nice to have a real doctor,” Raven said, falling into step beside her.  “We’ve had to make do with Murphy.  What happened?”

“I screwed up,” Madi moaned behind them.  “I thought he was going to shoot Clarke, and—”

“You panicked,” Clarke finished as soothingly as she could.  They rounded the corner into the medbay and she gave an involuntary gasp at Bellamy stretched out on a cot.  Murphy had stripped his hazmat suit down the waist and was cutting his shirt down the center with a pair of medical scissors.

Murphy looked up expectantly, and Bellamy turned his head towards her.  “Well, doc?” Murphy drawled.  “It’d be nice to have someone with actual medical training take over,” he said.

Clarke put her fear to the side.  “Madi, you need to run back to the rover.  Get the willow bark satchel, and—” she stopped and shook her head.  “No, wait, Murphy— do you have painkillers?”

Murphy gestured at a fully stocked cabinet behind him, and Clarke wanted to weep with relief.  Sterilized instruments, real pain killers, real medicine— she didn’t realize until that very moment how thoroughly she’d given up on ever seeing anything like that again.

She stepped forward and made herself forget that the patient lying in front of her was Bellamy.  She ignored the fact that the broad, smoothly muscled chest she was touching was his, that the heartbeat pounding against her fingertips was the one she had spent six years wishing she could hear.

In better lighting she was able to confirm again the bullet went straight through his shoulder and managed to miss anything vital.  It would hurt, and take ages to heal, but she packed the wound and bound it with sterile gauze and Bellamy bore it all with only a few groans.  Clare had given him a shot of morphine to take the edge of the pain off, and just as she finished she could tell it was really kicking in.  “There,” she said, her mind still not quite adjusted to everything that was happening.  “Now you rest, and everyone can tell me what— everyone can fill me in.”

The rest of her friends were gathered anxiously near the door, Madi standing slightly separate.  Bellamy looked over at Madi, his eyes glassy, and then back at her.  “And you can tell me when you picked up a kid, princess,” he said, and lifted his good hand to touch her cheek.

Clarke smoothed a curl back from his forehead.  “It’s a long story,” she said softly.

Bellamy’s eyelids were heavy, but he blinked them back open.  “We’ve got time.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> idk where the people on the Eligius ship are don't @ me.


	66. coming home

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I have written roughly a dozen “bellarke reuniting at a friend’s wedding while secretly pining” ficlets and honestly I’ll probably write a dozen more because none of you can stop me.

Clarke sensed him before he spoke.  It had been like that all day, as if her body  _needed_  to know where Bellamy was at every second.  It was disorienting, and a little bit dangerouns. **  
**

It had been six years, after all.

“Wanna dance?” he asked, his breath stirring the hair behind her ear.  Clarke fought a shiver and nodded, and Bellamy laced their fingers together to tow her out onto the dance floor.  Above them, chandeliers sparkled and out in the center of the crowd, Raven swayed lightly in Roan’s arms.

“I still can’t believe they agreed to this,” Bellamy said with a nod to the happy couple.  He placed his hand on Clarke’s lower back and she said a silent prayer that he wouldn’t notice the goosebumps that insisted on breaking out across her skin at his every touch.

“Nia drives a hard bargain, but Roan and Raven drive a harder one,” Clarke said, with a valiant attempt at keeping her voice normal.  Bellamy still smelled the same, like cologne and clean clothes and something that always reminded her of home.  “A society wedding that she paid for, in exchange for the house in Tahoe, minority shares in the company, and a solemn vow to never, ever ask for grandchildren.  I think they came out ahead.”

“Plus, we all get to get sloshed on Nia’s dime,” Bellamy grinned.  Clarke risked a glance at him and then looked away, because even after all this time, his eyes got to her.

It hadn’t been like that at first.  Hell, they didn’t even like each other much at the beginning, but somehow that shifted into being allies, and then friends.  Good friends.  Close friends.  Maybe even best friends, but they were just approaching that when Bellamy got into a grad program on the opposite side of the country.  It was his dream program and she was genuinely happy for him, but as he prepared to leave she found herself withdrawing.  Not noticeably at first, but every time he excitedly talked about his advisor or the apartment he’d found, she felt prickles of sadness, followed by guilt.  And when he finally did leave, she sank into a funk so profound Raven eventually burst through her door, demanding an explanation that Clarke didn’t have.

 _You don’t think it’s because you’re in love with him?_  Raven asked, and Clarke’s world snapped into focus at the arch of Raven’s eyebrow.  Because of course she was, but he was gone and she was two years into her residency and there was nothing for it.

So she let him go.

They kept in touch, of course, emails and texts and the occasional phone call, but Clarke put it into the category of  _right person, wrong time_  and got on with her life.  She finished her residency, fell in love, fell out of love, and once or twice a year Bellamy would come back for a short visit, and it was enough.

She thought.

But this weekend, everything she had locked away in the back of her mind came rushing to the fore, like it had never gone away in the first place.  

Bellamy readjusted his hand on her waist and tugged her infinitesimally closer.  “I’ll never forgive myself for missing the real wedding,” Bellamy said, and Clarke had to focus on his words and not the warmth he was radiating into her.

“It’s not your fault your dissertation was due the only week Nia was out of the country this year,” Clarke said, but he had been missed.  Raven wore a slinky red dress and Roan didn’t bother with a tie, and Monty married them in their backyard under a canopy of white christmas lights.  It was perfect, but Clarke had still felt a little bit lost, a little bit lonely without Bellamy there.  “They understood.”

“If they’d waited a year— hell, even six months— it wouldn’t have been a problem,” Bellamy grumbled, and Clarke finally looked him in the eye.

“What?” she asked, wondering if it was her imagination or if his gaze really did drop to her lips just then.  There had been times, especially in the first year he was gone, that she’d gone over every memory she had of him, wondering if maybe he had felt the same way.  There were hints, tiny gestures that loomed large in her mind now, but nothing concrete.  Nothing to make her certain.

Bellamy gave her a half smile.  “I didn’t want to say anything, until— well, I didn’t want to get my hopes up.  But I had a campus interview here back in February, and I got it.  Just signed the paperwork this week.”

“You were in town in February and didn’t tell anyone?” Clarke asked with mock annoyance, largely to hide the way her heart was pounding.

“I was a nervous wreck,” he admitted.  “I wanted it more than anything.”

“But you got it?”

“I got it.  When I fly back tomorrow, I start packing.  I’ll have to find a place here again, probably close to campus, and—”

But the rest of his to-do list remained unnamed, because Clarke cut him off with a kiss.  She didn’t plan it, and for one heart-stopping second he didn’t respond and she pulled away, terrified she’d ruined nearly a decade of friendship with one impulsive kiss  But then he caught her face in his hands and kissed her back so thoroughly there was no doubt left in her mind.

Their friends wolf-whistled and she knew they’d get a truckload of shit from them later, but for now she wound her fingers into Bellamy’s thick, unruly hair and smiled to herself.

Because Bellamy was coming home.


	67. humming

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Based on a twitter thread I'm too lazy to find right now.

His first hint something was wrong was the humming.

It was a rare moment of peace.  The Eligius miners were in their camp, and they would have the bunker uncovered some time early next week.  There, they would find— well, he wasn’t sure what they would find, and his stomach curdled at the thought— but he still had hope, and for now, that was enough.  The fire crackled in the center of Clarke’s encampment, and Monty had finally gotten his new still working.

Up in space, there wasn’t much to do  _but_  drink.  It was how they spent most of their nights, choking down Monty’s algae moonshine until they forgot it tasted like brackish lake water strained through Murphy’s socks.  But while they had spent six years drinking, it hadn’t occurred to him Clarke had spent six years  _not_  drinking.  It made sense when he thought about it— building a still would have been a waste of her energy and resources— but he hadn’t considered that when he passed her the first shot.  They started off playing some dumb game he remembered from back on the dropship, something with washers, and as usual, Echo was destroying them all.  Madi was sleeping in the small hut she shared with Clarke and above them the stars twinkled peacefully.

And Clarke was drunk.  Very, very drunk.  The humming was his first clue, but pretty soon she was full on singing, belting the words to a bawdy grounder song Emori had taught them all years ago.  When she finished— and bowed, his second clue— he found his canteen while the others applauded and tossed it to her.  “How about you have some water,” he called.  She slapped at the air and batted the canteen down instead of catching it, and then collapsed into helpless giggles.

He exchanged a grin with Raven and pushed off the log he was sitting on.  Clarke was cross legged on the ground and she leaned against him when he sat next to her, this time accepting the canteen from his hands.  “You’re drunk, princess,” he informed her.

“You’re drunk,” she grumbled, but downed a gulp of water all the same.  Clarke nuzzled against his shoulder and he wondered if he would ever truly believe she was alive and that this wasn’t all some dream.  He kept waiting to wake up back on the Ark with Clarke still dead and gone, but here she was, smelling like pine trees and moonshine, her cheek resting on his arm.  

“Didn’t know you had it in you, you know,” he said.

“Had what?” she asked.  Her eyes were bleary but still the exact shade of blue he remembered.  He used to worry he would forget the tiny details that made her her, that he was blurring the lines and the Clarke of his memories wasn’t the Clarke he’d known.  But seeing her again made him realize that could never happen.  He could never forget a single thing about her, from the mole on her upper lip to the way she crinkled her nose when she thought.

“The ability to be fun,” he teased.

Clarke’s eyes widened and she slapped his chest.  “Screw you,” she declared.  “I  _am_  fun, and everyone here thinks so.”

“She’s right, Blake,” Raven chimed in.  “She’s the fun one now, you’re the grump.”

“I am not a grump,” he muttered, and everyone broke into shrieks of laughter.  A smile split his face and he threw his arm around Clarke, letting her muffle her laughter into his jacket.  “You’re still drunk, though,” he added into her hair.

Clarke tried to drink more water but it dribbled down her chin instead.  She swiped at it guiltily and shrugged.  “So what if I am?”  She pressed a sloppy kiss to his cheek and relaxed back into his arms.  “I’m happy,” she said quietly.  “I didn’t think— doesn’t matter.  I’m drunk but I’m  _happy_ , and that’s what counts.  Whatever the hell we want, right?”

Bellamy tucked his nose into her hair and kissed the crown of her head.  “Whatever the hell you want, princess.”


	68. the right partner

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A bellarke ice dancing au, because as a former figure skater the winter olympics are my JAM and bellarke would totally end up in the fussiest category of figure skating. And before anyone asks, yes there’s a part two coming your way tomorrow. (Also I totally feel like I’ve written THIS EXACT FICLET before but I can’t find it, so maybe I just wrote it a dozen times in my head?)

Bellamy’s new partner was late.  Ever since Octavia decided to quit skating two years ago he had been bouncing around, never quite managing to make it work with anyone.  Gina seemed she was going to work, but when her back injury returned with a vengeance they had to bow out of the season.  She went through months of painful rehab but in the end, it just wasn’t meant to be. **  
**

He was on the verge of giving up entirely when Kane declared he’d found someone for him: Clarke Griffin, daughter of legendary pairs Abby and Jake Griffin. She had been coming up hard on the ladies’ circuit until a hip injury derailed her dreams.  “You’ll work well together, I can feel it.  She did ice dancing at the junior level with Wells Jaha before they both decided to go solo.  She’s got great presence and she’s a fierce competitor,” Kane had argued.  Bellamy remembered her slightly from competitions, but she was figure skating royalty and the Blake Siblings originally learned to skate on the pond in the park down the street.  Figure skating was a small world, but Bellamy and Clarke definitely traveled in different circles.

Bellamy had reluctantly agreed to meet her, and now she was late.  He lifted his eyebrows at Kane and took another lap around the rink to keep his muscles loose, but if she wasn’t going to bother to show up on time, he wasn’t going to bother with her.

“Sorry!” a voice called out, and Clarke emerged from behind the boards looking flustered.

“If you’re going to have a partner, you have to actually show up to practice on time, princess,” he growled.

Clarke slid to a stop next to him and narrowed her eyes.  “If either of you’d checked your phones, you’d see I texted a half hour ago that my car had a flat.  I changed it as fast as I could, okay?”

Kane clapped his hands from the side to curtail their argument.  “That’s my fault, Clarke.  I have a strict no phones policy, so they’re back in the locker rooms.  Everything’s okay with your car now?”

“The spare’ll last until I can get it in to get fixed, yeah.”

“Then let’s get started,” Kane announced, and they took their positions.  Bellamy stood half a pace behind her, right hand on her hip, and took her outstretched left hand in his.

“This isn’t just an audition for me, you know,” she said, and they pushed off.  Matching your strides was harder than it looked, but theirs fell into rhythm without trying.  

“It’s not?” he asked, and she turned so they were in a waltz position.

“I’m auditioning you too.  I’d heard you were a pain in the ass to work with, but Kane begged me to give you a shot.  But maybe it’s not worth it.”

Bellamy swallowed his surprise— and annoyance— and they moved through the steps of an elementary waltz routine.  Much to his chagrin, it was effortless.  Kane sent them through their paces, and they barely ever faltered, finding synchronization easier than he had even with Octavia.

By the end of practice, Bellamy was both thoroughly disgruntled and elated, because it was clear.

He’d found his partner.


	69. the right partner (II)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sequel to chapter 68, and partially inspired by Virtue and Moir's way-too-sensual programs.

**  
**It took three months for them to get over their rough start.  Three months of sniping at each other when Kane couldn’t hear, three months of arguing through footwork and choreography and cross training, and three months of piecing together a partnership they both knew could take them all the way if they could just over themselves. **  
**

And then one day, it just happened.  Bellamy didn’t know who initiated the dry look when Kane insisted they _try it one more time_  even though they’d executed the lift perfectly the last six times, but they both cracked a wry smile and from there, it got easier.  

Because ice dancing was about trust in a way even pairs wasn’t.  Pairs was about relying on your partner through lifts and complicated spins, but ice dancing was about  _knowing_  your partner.  You could rarely let go of one another, which meant one wrong move, one half-a-second hesitation, could bring you both down in a tangle of blades and ice.  But Clarke could read his mind, it seemed, and he could read hers.  They even managed an improvisation on the fly during their second competition, when their first twizzle sequence wasn’t as tight as they wanted it to be.  Without a word, they skipped their last step sequence— which wasn’t required, just a naked bid for extra points— and substituted another set of twizzles that carried them all the way to the top of the podium.

It wasn’t just the judges who noticed them.  They quickly became fan favorites, with blogs dedicated to their “chemistry” and packed with gifs of their moves, including the time during their short program at nationals— set to a tango— where Bellamy grazed his lips up the curve of Clarke’s neck.  It wasn’t officially part of their choreography, but the routine was sensual and seductive and in the moment, it felt right.  

Of course, he might have had other reasons for doing it, but he couldn’t afford to contemplate that.  Not if it meant jeopardizing what they had.

From then on, they were unstoppable.  So unstoppable that they were now within 30 seconds of winning Olympic gold.  They’d nailed every element so far, and they flew through their last lift without a hitch.  They slipped into one last spin, and drove their toepicks into the ice to come to a sudden stop, Clarke draped dramatically in his arms.

For half a heartbeat, the entire rink was silent.  And then the crowd erupted into an ear splitting roar that shook the rafters.  Bellamy pumped his fist and Clarke straightened, still in his arms.  He waited for her to spin out, but instead she grabbed his collar and yanked him down for a kiss.  

If possible, the crowd cheered even louder.  And when they broke apart to take their bows, he wondered if even winning gold could top that very moment.


	70. Strangers

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Some more baseless s5 spec, this time based on a twitter discussion of getting a reverse Hakeldama.

“Everyone out.”  When Bellamy issued an order, especially in that tone of voice, people hastened to comply.  Even the Eligius crew, who had only known him for a few weeks, picked up on the danger lurking in his eyes. **  
**

But Clarke stood her ground.  She waited for the others to file out, arms crossed and eyes locked onto Bellamy.  Or whoever this was who vaguely resembled Bellamy, because six years on the Ark had turned him into someone she no longer recognized.  “What the hell is the matter with you?” she snapped.  “That’s your _sister_  under that pile of rubble.  That’s my mother, that’s Kane, that’s Miller, that’s— it’s our people, Bellamy.”

“If they survived.  They’re a year past their supplies.  We have no way of knowing if they’ve made it.”

Her jaw dropped.  “So you’re not even going to try?”

“I didn’t say that.  We’ll send a scouting party with some equipment.  If they can make headway, we’ll consider a larger rescue mission.”  He crossed his arms, his shoulders broader than she remembered, but it was his eyes that had changed the most.  She remembered them vividly, warm and soft and understanding, forgiving of all her faults.  But now they were cold and hard; merciless.

“Or we could go  _now_  and stop wasting time they might not have.”

“We can’t spare the resources, Clarke.  Not now, not with winter bearing down on us.  You of all people should know that.  Hell, you’ve got six more winters than the rest of us, even.”

“Don’t,” she snapped.  “Don’t you dare.”

“Don’t what? Try and reason with you?”

She curled her hands into fists, furious that it had come to this.  She had been so happy to see him, and if his hug felt a little more perfunctory after six years apart than she had anticipated, she could forgive that.  But she almost wished he hadn’t come back at all, if he was going to be like this— unforgiving and calculating, implacable as a glacier.  Her Bellamy was fire and heat and love, not…this.  This Bellamy barely had time for Madi’s questions, and barely spoke to her outside of meetings like this.  Hurt and anger boiled inside of her, six years worth of near-solitude rushing to the surface, and she scoffed.

“What do you want from me, Clarke?” he said in that same infuriating tone.

“I want you back, Bellamy.  The real you, not— this,” she said, with a disgusted wave of her hand.

“I am who I had to be.”

“A jackass?”

“You,” he spat, and she blinked.  “You didn’t make it back, so I had to be you.  Use my head, remember?  I had to keep them alive, so I did.”

It was their last real conversation.  She’d gone over it again and again in her mind, wishing she’d said more, but she didn’t realize he would remember it too.  “I didn’t mean…” she trailed off, not sure of what to say.

“You didn’t mean what, Clarke?  Please, tell me.  But whatever you’re going to say, I’ve already thought it, because— Jesus, I spent years talking to you.  Wishing you were there, wishing I didn’t have to become…whatever it is I am.”

“So why did you?”

“Because I buried you!” he thundered.  “You were dead, so every night I imagined coming down here; I imagined finding your body and—” he broke off, throat working hard.  “I buried you,” he repeated.

“You  _left_  me,” she shouted back, and dimly she remembered him shouting that at her in a room much like this one.  She wondered if she only imagined the pain on his face then, because this Bellamy didn’t seem capable of feeling anything.  

But the moment the words left her lips, she saw it.  His eyes flickered, just for a moment, and she saw him again.  But the new Bellamy was still the one who spoke.  “I didn’t have a choice, Clarke,” he said tightly.  “If I waited, we’d all be dead.”

“Do you think I don’t know that?” she yelled.  She was on the verge of tears, fury and rage and regret and bone deep sadness tearing through her chest.  “But it doesn’t change anything, Bellamy.  Because while you were up there with everyone, I was here. Alone.”

Bellamy blinked and rolled back on his heels.  “You had Madi,” he said, his tone marginally gentler than before.

“I had a daughter.  I didn’t have a partner,” she said bitterly, and he looked away.  It was that, more than anything, that told her the real Bellamy was still inside of him, locked in a steel cage.  He never could bear to look her straight in the eye in moments like this, moments where their hearts were raw and bleeding.  “I needed you Bellamy,” she said, and took a step towards him.  He still wouldn’t look at her, so she took another step and then another until she was standing in front of him, close enough to see his pulse jumping in his throat and a muscle ticking in his jaw.  “I needed you,” she whispered, and lifted her hand to touch his cheek.

When he finally looked back at her, his eyes were wet.  “Do you think I didn’t need you?”

Her heart cracked open, and she tugged his face down level with hers, until their foreheads were pressed together.  Their ragged breath mingled and she blinked back tears.  “You don’t have to be like this anymore,” she promised.  “I’m here.”

“Do you have any idea how badly I’ve wanted to hear that?” he said with a broken laugh.  He cupped her face in his hands, his eyelashes fluttering against her tears.

Clarke wrapped her arms around his chest and tucked her head under his chin, fitting right where she belonged.  His heart pounded against her ear and he sighed shakily.  “Okay, princess,” he said, even though she hadn’t said anything.  “Okay.”


	71. remnants

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bellamy telling Abby Clarke didn't make it, because I want to torture @kane-and-griffin.

The last piece of rubble fell away with a thunderous clang, metal and concrete sending a gout of dust up into the air.  Bellamy looked at Raven apprehensively, and she swallowed hard.  _ It could be locked from the inside.  They could all be dead already. You could be too late _ , his brain whispered.

Removing the rubble had made too much noise for them to listen for survivors, but when they killed the engine, they heard it.  Pounding and shouting, unmistakably coming from inside the bunker. In spite of everything a smile spread across his face, and Echo ran forward to help lift the heavy trap door.

A dark head emerged and he blew out the breath he’d been holding.  Octavia was alive-- worn and weathered, but alive. She saw him almost instantly and smiled, scrambling from the bunker like an eager kid.  He swept her into his arms before she’d gone three steps and for a moment, the world was at peace. “I knew you could do it,” he murmured, and Octavia let out a choked sob.  

“I missed you, big brother,” she said, and then they had to step back to let the exodus from the bunker begin.

Octavia stood by his side and nodded as people made their way out, one by one.  He noticed that most seemed to avert their eyes from her, and that all of them had a haunted, wounded look about them.  But before he could broach the subject, the moment he had been dreading arrived. Kane climbed out and then reached down to help pull Abby up after him.

Kane’s eyes found his and he saw the flash of realization in them, but Abby scanned the crowd.  Once, twice, three times, her eyes searched each face, looking for the one that wasn’t there.

That would never be there.

Abby looked at him and shook her head.  “No,” she whispered, and Kane wrapped his fingers around her elbow.  She shook him off. “Where is she?” she asked, voice breaking.

Bellamy cleared his throat.  “I’m sorry,” he said as gently as he could.  “She didn’t make it.”

“You said you would take care of her,” Abby spat, but tears were welling in her brown eyes that still somehow reminded him of Clarke.  “You-- you  _ promised.” _

“I know."

“How?” Abby demanded, and when Kane tried to interrupt she ignored him.  “I deserve to know. How did my daughter die?”

“Saving us,” Bellamy said, because details could come later, but she needed to know that much.  “Without her, we wouldn’t have made it to the Ark.”  _ And without her, we never would have been around to get you out, either.  She saved us all _ .

“No,” Abby said, as reality began to set in.  “Please no, not-- not after all this,” she begged, and Bellamy had to look away.  His own grief had dulled over the years, but seeing it etched on Abby’s face brought it all rushing back.

He threw an anguished look at Kane and reached into his pocket.  “I found this,” he said, and pulled out the tiny, fragile scrap of paper.  He’d discovered it wedged between her bunk and the wall in Clarke’s cell a year into their stay in space.  He never figured out how she procured paper while in solitary, or if she’d managed to bring it with her when she was arrested.  But it was her hand, undeniably. The evidence was everywhere in her cell, hundreds of drawings on the floor, walls, and even the ceiling.  This was the only part he could bring with him, but the moment he had unfolded it he knew it didn’t belong to him.

Abby took it with shaking hands and crumpled against Kane.  The drawing was Jake Griffin, laughing. Bellamy had memorized it-- the laugh lines around Jake’s eyes, the way he was talking with his hands, clearly caught mid-sentence.  It practically vibrated off the page with life and love, and Abby deserved to have it.

Kane wrapped his arms around Abby as she sobbed into his chest, his own eyes welling, and dismissed Bellamy silently.  He walked away, surrounded by happy reunions and people rejoicing at their freedom for the first time in half a dozen years, and sat down on the edge of a piece of rubble.

Alone.

  
  



	72. whenever you're ready

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Post 501 ficlet, which means there are spoilers for 501 below, plus some very angsty bellarke.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (guys there is background becho in this even though it's verrrry bellarke, so consider yourselves warned in advance.)

Clarke stumbled to her knees, struggling to right herself with her hands tied.  But she’d never get an opportunity like this again.  It had taken three days to get a guard dumb enough to acquiesce to her demands to be taken outside to use the latrine instead of the bucket Diyoza had given her, and from there it was easy enough to headbutt her and take off.  Clarke wasn’t sure how far the range extended on the shock collar, but that was a problem she’d deal with later.

Right now she had to get as far away as possible.

Another root tangled her ankle and she fell again.  She was making too much noise but that couldn’t be helped.  Branches slapped her face and twigs crackled underfoot as she thundered through the underbrush.  Eligius seemed to have decided she was alone— she’d waited and listened until she was sure they had stopped looking for anyone else— which meant Madi was safe, at least.

She paused and listened for signs of pursuit.  Silence settled around her in the familiar forest, and she turned to the east, towards the cave.  Madi could be any number of hiding places, but the cave was farthest from the village.  If she wasn’t there, at least Clarke would be leaving a false trail for any pursuers.

Clarke slowed as she approached the river, her time in captivity catching up to her.  She was out of breath a half a klick before she should have been and she dropped to her knees at the edge of the water.  What little water she’d gotten from her captors had been stale, recycled stuff and she allowed herself a moment to enjoy the cold snowmelt stream.

A rustle in the bushes had her crouching down further.  She curled a rock between her palms— a poor weapon, but better than being undefended completely— and she balanced on her toes, ready to spring.

Instead she blinked.  Out of the brush burst first Bellamy, then Raven and Monty and then  _ everyone, _  Madi tight on Echo’s heels.  Clarke staggered up, not daring to hope this was real, and then Bellamy grabbed her by the biceps and crushed her to him.  Her hands were caught awkwardly between them but his warmth was so real, so present, that tears sprang to her eyes. “You’re alive,” he whispered, and she didn’t know if it was to her or to himself.

“Let’s get you out of these,” he said stepping back far too soon, pulling a knife from his thigh holster.  Clarke scanned her friend’s faces, taking in their bright, relieved smiles.

“Took you guys long enough,” she teased, and the plastic tie around her wrists finally snapped.  Clarke rubbed her wrists and looked back at Bellamy, everything she had wanted to say to him over the past six years rushing to the tip of her tongue.  He was searching her face, eyes soft but wide with disbelief, and she reached up to brush a long, wavy lock of hair back from his forehead.

And Bellamy flinched.

She froze, unsure, and his gaze flicked over to the group.

To Echo.

Humiliation boiled in her stomach like acid before she even realized what was happening.  It was all so fast, so unexpected, that for the first time in a long time— maybe ever— she had no idea what to say to Bellamy.

Raven broke the silence.  “We should get moving,” she announced.  “Get you to a place where I can get that thing off your neck.”  Clarke threw her arms around Raven and her friend hugged her back, and then they were moving again, moment forgotten.

 

* * *

 

They ended up in the dead zone, huddled between the rover and their rocket.  Madi had chattered most of the drive out, proudly pointing out landmarks and impressing everyone with her extensive knowledge of their history.  Bellamy drove and Clarke wondered if it was to keep from having to talk to her, but every few minutes he’d glance back at her, as if checking to make sure she was still there.  Monty and Harper sat on either side of her, hands laced with hers, and once when Bellamy looked back she could have sworn Monty squeezed her hand comfortingly.

But when they drew to a stop she couldn’t help but notice the way he and Echo moved in concert, their every movement clearly intimately familiar to the other.  Her heart twinged painfully and she focused on getting the rover unpacked, checking to make sure they had enough water for the next few days.

It took Emori longer than Clarke would have thought to get the fire started, but Clarke made Madi wait and let them try.  Emori glowed with pride when it sparked and Clarke beamed back at her, but then she caught sight of Echo and Bellamy having a low, heated conversation.  Echo gestured forcefully and Bellamy shook his head.  Whatever they were talking about was too soft and indistinct for her to hear.

Clarke blinked back tears for the fifth time that day and stood up.  “I’ll go get some more supplies from the rover,” she offered and walked into the darkness, away from the warmth of the fire.  Madi was chattering excitedly to Murphy, who looked more than a little perplexed, and Clarke made herself smile. It was good for Madi to have people around her, good to have her friends back, good to have allies in whatever was brewing with Eligius.

Everything else she could get over.

But still stubborn tears clung to her eyelashes as she dug blindly through the back of the rover.  Footsteps had her hastily wiping at her cheeks and hoping the darkness would hide the evidence, but Bellamy leaned against the side of the rover and cocked his head.  “Are you okay?” he asked in a voice she had spent six years waiting to hear.

“Of course!” she said brightly.  “Just looking for an extra sleeping bag.”  She had practice at hiding her feelings from Madi, but Madi was a child and Bellamy was...well, Bellamy was _Bellamy._  When she emerged from the back of the rover he was watching her with raised eyebrows and she knew it hadn’t worked. “It’s just a lot. Having you all back; having those people in our valley,” she tried.  She closed the door and perched on the bumper, looking determinedly out into the darkness.

Bellamy sat next to her and fingered the ends of her hair.  She couldn’t help it— she closed her eyes and leaned into his touch, because she had spent six years longing for someone to caress her like that; gentle and soothing.  “You cut your hair,” he said quietly.

“You didn’t,” she replied, and they shared a wry smile.

“About earlier—”

“It’s nothing,” she interrupted.  She hated feeling like this, knowing that he pitied her. She had spent six years dreaming of something that would never be and the pain and humiliation was too fresh, too raw to look at closely yet. “I’m happy for you,” she forced out, but it was the truth.  She had wanted nothing more than for him to be whole and healthy and happy when he came back to her, and he was.

And the fact that that happiness came from someone else was nothing to mourn. He was back and that was all that mattered.  She looked up at the stars and tried not to think about how many times she’d done that, imagining him next to her like this.  “Echo and I—” he tried again, but she shook her head.

“Don’t, Bellamy,” she begged, and this time her voice wavered just the tiniest bit.  “I’m happy for you."

“She was the one who told me to come talk to you," he admitted.

"You didn't have to," she protested.  She didn't think it was possible for her heart to break anymore, but she was wrong.   _He didn't even want to talk to me._

"It's not that," he said, reading her mind like always.  Somehow, that hurt worse.  "I thought you were dead.  I spent six years thinking you were dead, and now-- I just didn't know what to say."  She wondered if that was an explanation or a plea for forgiveness.  Years ago, she would have known for sure.

“I thought you might be too,” she said, and made another attempt at a smile.  “I’m glad I was wrong.”

“Me too,” he said, but she could tell there was more brewing behind those dark eyes.

“Did you— before?” she stammered before she could stop herself.  She’d gone over every single second with him in her mind for the past six years, and she’d been so sure she was right.  So sure that she’d spilled things she never thought she could say into the radio on the faint hope that he would hear her and know it wasn’t one-sided.

Hope that he would hear her and come back, his own confession bursting from his lips.

False hope, apparently.

“I did,” he rasped.  “I did. Clarke I lo—”

“Sorry, I can’t,” she cut him off, because suddenly the possibility of hearing  _ loved _ , past tense, was too much.  Bellamy looked like he was going to protest but he nodded instead.  She wiped at her cheeks again and looked up. “We just can’t get our timing right, can we?” she said with a watery chuckle.

“We never did have much luck,” he agreed dryly, and she summoned up everything she had and nudged him playfully with her elbow.  Maybe if she pretended it would eventually be real, and they could go back to how things were. He nudged her back and she managed a smile.

“I just need a little time,” she admitted.

Bellamy touched her shoulder lightly and stood to go.  “Whenever you’re ready.”

  
  


 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey so I know tensions are a little high at the moment and I totally get not being into becho but I am so if you're looking for somewhere to complain about that aspect of the show, here isn't the place. Let's keep it positive, okay dudes?
> 
> Okay good talk.
> 
> (also I have definitely ended ficlets with that line before but whatever it's a GOOD WAY TO END A FICLET and I stand by that.)


	73. the only way forward is through

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> More angsty bellarke s5 spec, because #brand.
> 
> (from thoughtsinplaces' request for bellarke and "it would have been easier if I had just died.")

Clarke stole a sideways glance at Bellamy sitting in the driver’s seat.  The Bellamy beside her was not quite the Bellamy she had talked to all these years, but there was still something reassuring about having him behind the wheel again.  The endless shifting sands of the Dead Zone smeared past the window and the rover rumbled over a series of rocks that might have once been the top of a building. **  
**

Their silence wasn’t comfortable, not exactly, but it wasn’t strained either.  She had felt a now-familiar spike of uncertainty when Bellamy offered to take the rover with her back out to their rocket to scavenge the parts Raven needed, but with everyone else now several kilometers behind them her stomach was starting to settle.   _Things changed.  You knew they would.  He’s back, he’s happy, he’s healthy, that’s all that matters._   

But the guilt in Echo’s eyes when he kissed her cheek goodbye sat heavily on Clarke’s shoulders.  Six years ago she would have known how to talk to him about it, but now the words felt heavy on her tongue.  Bellamy looked to the west and frowned.  “Is that normal?” he asked, nodding towards a dark, billowing cloud on the horizon.

“Shit, no,” she swore.  “Stop the rover— we’ve gotta prepare.”

“Doesn’t look like how I remember,” Bellamy said, easing the rover into park.

“That’s because it’s not a thunderstorm, it’s a sandstorm.  We have to get the solar panels in now before the winds hit.”

Bellamy was out of the rover only seconds after her, and to her surprise he unscrewed the panels with practiced ease.  Wind whipped at their hair and she squinted against the stinging sand, but they had the rover prepped in record time.

The wind reached a howling, fever pitch and Bellamy slammed the door behind them, muffling the shriek of air and sand against metal.  “I take it you and Madi dealt with a lot of these?” he asked.  He shook his head and a small dusting of sand drifted down to the floor.

Clarke unwrapped her scarf from her face.  “Only a few.  But the first one took out both my solar panels and left me without the rover for almost six months,” she explained.  “That was before I found her.”

Bellamy moved aside a bundle of herbs and sat down on the bench.  It was strange, seeing him sit where Madi normally did on nights they were traveling and it was raining too hard to sit outside.  It made the rover feel smaller, less like home.  “When did you find her?” he asked, and the rover rocked gently in the wind.

Clarke busied herself with digging up an extra canteen of water.  There had been precious little time to catch up since they returned, which had let her push past most of the awkwardness with Bellamy. But now he was sitting just feet from her and she didn’t know how to handle it.  “A few months in,” she said without looking up.

“That must have been hard; being alone for so long.”

Unexpected tears sprang into her eyes.  She’d forgotten what it was like to have someone who understood, who helped her carry her burdens.

Who knew how to comfort her.

“It was bad,” she admitted.  She’d told him as much on the radio, but even then some part of her knew she was talking to nothing but static.  It was harder— much harder— to put voice to her fears now.  Even with the distance the hopelessness came rushing back, welling up inside of her until she felt like she might dissolve entirely.  “I didn’t know if you had made it to the ring and I couldn’t get into the bunker.  I ran out of water, food, everything.  I ran out of hope.  I thought— I thought it might have been easier if I had just died in praimfaya.”  She felt his eyes on her but she couldn’t look at him and keep going, not now.  “I almost gave up.”

“I’m glad you didn’t,” he said after a long moment of silence.  “In case that wasn’t clear.”

She almost grinned at that, remembering the way he’d burst out of the woods to scoop her into his arms the day they landed.  The bubble had burst almost immediately when she realized she was waiting on something that wasn’t meant to be, but she would never, ever forget the relief on his face when he caught sight of her.  “I guess I still had hope,” she said, and when she looked up he was giving her a familiar half-smile that made her heart ache.

Something thudded against the rover and Bellamy flinched.  “The wind kicks up a lot of debris, don’t worry about it,” she said, and he laughed, shaking his head.

“I forgot how unpredictable the ground was,” he said.

“I bet you forgot a lot of things.”

“Some, yeah.”  He looked at her, eyes dark in the dim, filtered light.  “But not everything.”

Her breath caught in her throat and she looked away.  “The storm should die down soon,” she observed, but Bellamy was still looking at her in a way that made her heartbeat pick up.

“Don’t do that, Clarke,” he said softly.

“Do what?”

“Change the subject.”

She swallowed hard.  “I didn’t.”

He sighed.  “I didn’t forget you,” he said, and for a second she considered just getting out of the rover, sandstorm be damned.  “I couldn’t.”

“I never said you did, Bellamy,” she said, because it had been so long since she’d been able to taste his name on her lips and see him react.

Maybe it was a trick of the light but his eyes gleamed a little brighter.  “I know it probably seems like I did,” he rasped, “but that’s not what happened.  You— you were a part of me up there.”

She inhaled sharply.  “I talked to you.  Every day.  I think I needed to, to remember who I was.  You kept me sane.”

“You kept me going.  Some days it seemed like we’d be stuck up there forever, but I knew you wouldn’t have let us think like that.  I had to get us back down here.  For you.”

“Thank you,” she said, and impulsively she reached out to touch his wrist, her thumb sweeping across the muscles and tendons corded there.  His hand came down to rest on top of hers and for a moment the rest of the world faded away.

Clarke broke their connection because if she didn’t do it then, she might not ever be able to.  “The wind is dying down,” she observed, rubbing her palms on her thighs.  “We’ll have to dig the wheels out, but we should be able to get going again.”

“Lead the way,” Bellamy said, his voice returning to normal.  Clarke sorted through the tools behind the seats and found two spades, handing one over to him.  Her fingertips tingled with the memory of his touch but she ignored it as best she could.

Because for now, the only way forward was through.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Gonna write about 6 billion versions of this conversation until we get it in canon and then I’m gonna write 6 billion more. (Also gentle reminder that I’m totally fine if any of you are not on board with canon becho, but I respectfully ask that you not work out your feelings about them in the comments on my fics. xoxo, hawthornewhisperer.)


	74. competition

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Clarke and Echo have an uncomfortable conversation. Canonverse.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fair warning: this is going to feature canonverse becho, a bit of jealous-but-fighting-it!Clarke, and jealous-but-fighting-it!Echo. If you find any of those things upsetting that's totally fine, but then this ficlet maybe isn't for you. (No judgment if it isn't, I just want to make sure we're all on the same page before we start).
> 
> Inspired by a bts picture JRoth posted on twitter awhile ago, but idk how to link it here.

It was hard not to eavesdrop.  Clarke had spent six years with only one other person for company and she’d gotten out of practice at letting other conversations fuzz out, so when Echo hissed angrily at Bellamy she couldn’t help but overhear.

“Echo, please,” he whispered.  Clarke busied herself with recounting their rations, but every word arrowed straight to her eardrums.

“Don’t,” Echo replied coldly.  “Don’t bother.” They were on the opposite side of the fire, and out of the corner of her eye she saw Bellamy touch Echo’s shoulder.

She jerked away and a note of annoyance crept into Bellamy's voice.  “Could you at least talk to me?”

“There’s nothing to talk about,” Echo retorted.  Clarke darted her gaze back to the pile of dried meat in front of her, but it was too late.  She caught Echo’s cold look and watched her stalk off into the dark like a panther seeking out its prey.  Bellamy watched her go and turned away, shoulders set in anger. Clarke’s stomach roiled.

No one had said so directly, but Clarke knew she was the cause of their tension.  It was written on everyone’s faces every time she so much as spoke to Bellamy. It was in the concerned looks flicked towards Echo, the general tightening of mouths whenever Bellamy stood just a little too close to her to discuss the plan.  She wanted to say something, promise everyone that she understood and wouldn’t get in the way, but broaching it felt massively narcissistic and she couldn’t quite find the words.

And then there was the fact that every time she saw him gently touch the small of Echo’s back or watched them share a private smile, her chest erupted with jealousy.  She hated feeling this way, furious with herself that she couldn’t just be  _ happy _ that her friends were back.  But no matter how hard she tried, the feelings refused to fade.

Belatedly, Clarke realized she’d completely lost count and would have to start again.  She turned on her heel and walked towards the church, less for a specific reason and more to put distance between herself and the thick, billowing clouds of anger now rolling off Bellamy.  Her instinct was to try and comfort him except that would probably only make things worse.

But the church was already occupied.  Echo must have entered through the back, and Clarke realized yet again how much she’d forgotten in her six years with Madi— it had been so long since she needed to keep track of the whereabouts of more than one person.

Echo had her back to her, sorting through the pile of knives Clarke had scavenged from the Dead Zone.  She stiffened when Clarke let the door swing shut behind her. “Sorry, I’ll go,” Clarke said, and Echo blew out an angry breath.

“Don’t bother.  This is all yours anyway,” Echo muttered.  She stalked past Clarke with her chin high, and against Clarke’s better judgment she reached out and grabbed Echo’s wrist.

Echo shook her off.  “Don’t,” she said warningly, but the years alone with Madi had dulled Clarke’s ability to be tactful.

“Whatever it is, I’m sorry,” Clarke said.  Echo glared at her but she refused to back down, meeting the taller woman’s gaze evenly.

“Are you?” Echo asked.

“I don’t want to see any of you upset,” Clarke said, and that much was the truth.  But ever since they returned, Clarke had realized that while she had been sure to tell Madi as many stories as she knew about her friends, she knew precious little about Echo.  Most of what she’d told Madi about Echo was really about Roan, with Echo lingering on the periphery even of her own stories. But now she was back and Clarke had to reckon with the fact that she hadn’t given Echo much thought one way or another.  She felt arrogant for thinking that way, and more than a little stupid.

“Any of us? Or him?” Echo snarled.

“Any of you.”

Echo glowered at her fiercely and then slumped back against the table, all of the tension in her long limbs releasing at once.  “You just don’t stop, do you?” She shook her head and let her hair fall between them as a shield. “Out of everything, I never thought it would be you.”

“Echo, whatever it is— it’s in the past,” she tried.

That had Echo’s head snapping back up.  “That’s just the thing. It’s all in the past.  Everything here, you— you’re his past, and now you’re inescapable.  Up there I thought I could make peace with it, let you have that part of him because you were gone.  But you’re not and I can’t compete with a dead woman,” she spat, but tears were glimmering at the corners of her eyes.

“It’s not a competition,” Clarke said softly, because it wasn’t.  Bellamy might have been something to her before, back when she wasn’t sure she could love anyone anymore, but now he wasn’t and Clarke was doing her best to face that fact.  She wondered if this was what Raven felt like when she landed on the ground, expecting to pick up where she’d left off with Finn and discovering that a stranger had taken her place.  She was determined not to come between them, but even that wasn't enough.

“You’re right, it’s not,” Echo said bitterly.  “I lived with your ghost for years. Not just with him; with all of them.  Everyone had a story about you, a memory, something. Everyone but me, because to me, you were only ever Wanheda.”  Clarke flinched at that old title but let Echo continue, hoping she could draw some of her poison out. “And I was fine with it.  Not because I disliked you or thought you were a threat, but because they needed that. They needed you, all of them did, but Bellamy— Bellamy especially.  I watched him grieve for you and it took  _ years _ before he could say your name, but I understood.  Not because I was in love with him then, but because up there we only had each other.”  

Echo straightened and looked down at her, a single tear tracking down her cheek.  “He loved you, you know,” she said, and Clarke’s heart curled inward. “I don’t know if he ever admitted it to anyone else, but he told me.  And I understood, had known for probably longer than he did, and it didn’t bother me. I let him keep part of himself tucked away behind glass for you, because that’s what he needed.  And now—” she broke off and looked away, shaking her head. “Now he won’t admit it.”

Clarke was surprised she was even able to find her voice.  “Admit what?”

“That he has unfinished business with you.  That he can’t be with me and feel whatever he feels for you.”

“I won’t— I won’t get in your way,” Clarke promised.

Echo scoffed.  “Of course you wouldn’t.  I know what happened with Raven and Finn, I know— I know so much about you, Clarke.  And I also know that every single one of them would have thrown me out into Praimfaya for you without hesitation, and now— now I have to live with that.”

“I’m sorry,” Clarke said miserably.  Tears flowed down both their cheeks as their hearts cracked open but neither of them looked away.  Clarke had wanted her friends back but not like this— not if her presence was causing them pain. She didn’t know how to fix it, but she knew she wanted to try.

Echo was the one who broke their gaze.  “I know you are. But those people out there— I would die for them, Clarke.  I would. In a second. It’s been a long time, but I’m still a warrior of Azgeda and if that’s what it takes to keep them safe, I’ll die.”  Echo started towards the door and paused at the opening, flickering candlelight throwing her cheekbones into sharp relief against the darkness beyond. “I’d die for them.  But you? You already did.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hiiiii I'm torn between my absolute love of angst like this and my all-consuming fear of people yelling at me for writing a dynamic they dislike so be prepared for a billion disclaimers like the one above for the foreseeable future.
> 
> And obligatory gentle reminder that if you dislike becho or Echo I totally understand, but please do not use the comments here to work out your feelings towards that ship/character. xoxo, hawthornewhisperer.


	75. no more sleeping in the rover

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bellamy being sweet with Madi and Clarke + spacekru being family. Season 5 spec (ish).

Clarke shifted the rover into park and rubbed at her eyes.  The drive back to the village was long, and conversation had dwindled into silence an hour ago as everyone drifted into sleep one by one. **  
**

Bellamy was the first to stir, coughing to clear his throat and sitting up.  “We’re back?” he asked, and Clarke nodded.  Behind them, Raven was stretching gingerly and Emori cracked her neck while Echo pushed open the back door. Clarke circled around to the back and Monty smiled sleepily at her as he climbed down.

Madi was sprawled out on the rover floor, sound asleep.  Everyone carefully picked their way around her and Clarke sighed, letting herself watch Madi for just a moment.  It had been years since she’d fallen asleep like this in the rover, dead to the world and peaceful.

Bellamy touched her shoulder.  “She sleeps in the alcove of the church, right?” he asked quietly.  Behind them Raven and Harper started repositioning the rain cistern to drain into the filter.

“You can just leave her, she’s a lot heavier than she used to be,” Clarke said.  When she first met Madi she used to carry her to bed all the time, but a few years ago Madi had hit her growth spurt and while Clarke probably  _could_  carry her dead weight, it was enough of a struggle that she’d learned not to bother.

“I’ve got it,” he said, and squeezed her shoulder.  He slipped his arm under Madi’s knees and the other under her shoulders and lifted, and Madi snuffled sleepily and turned her face into his chest.  Bellamy stepped down from the rover and repositioned her, nodding at Clarke as he started walking.

The cooking fire flared into life with Echo crouching in front of it and Murphy was already setting a pot above it to boil.  Bellamy shouldered open the door to the church and she followed him in, dazed but not quite sure why.  She watched Bellamy gently lay Madi down and darted forward to pull the covers up to her shoulders.  She stirred again and Clarke kissed her forehead, Bellamy standing just a step behind her.

But on the steps of the church she paused, the flurry of activity in the village hitting her all at once.  Emori was checking the solar panels of the rover and Monty and Harper were already returning from the woods with firewood stacked high in their arms, and Clarke blinked rapidly.  “You okay?” Bellamy asked.  He was standing close enough for her to feel his warmth and she nodded, her throat too thick to get the words out.  

She’d forgotten what this was like, having other people to help.  Madi did her best, of course, but for years Madi had needed Clarke to do most of it, and Clarke had gotten used to handling everything in camp on her own.  Getting back after a day like today should have meant hours more work while Madi slept in the rover, but now— now it was almost done, and it was almost too much.

“Hey Clarke, I’ve got some questions about this piece of crap you call a water filtration system,” Raven called, and Clarke crossed the clearing to join her.  “You okay?” Raven asked, her tone identical to Bellamy’s.  Clarke nodded, but Raven draped her arm around her shoulders and brushed a kiss to her temple.  “You’re not alone anymore,” Raven whispered, and Clarke dropped her head to her friend’s shoulder for just a heartbeat, because after six years of waiting, it was true.

She wasn’t.

 

 


	76. I've got you for that

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Spoilers for 503.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am NEVER GONNA BE OVER THAT REUNION holy fuck.

“That’s far enough.”  

Bellamy stopped in his tracks, every cell in his body vibrating with fear and disbelief and utter, all consuming relief.  The woman issuing orders was clearly not to be trifled with but even still it took everything he had not to sprint to Clarke’s side, guns be damned.

Because up until this very moment, part of him had thought it was a trap.  Maybe the girl was one of the prisoners, planted to lure them in to their deaths.  But she knew his name— and Clarke’s— and his instinct told him to trust her, and for once his luck held.  Clarke was prone on the ground and he swallowed hard, unable to tear his eyes from her while the woman kept talking.  “She must be pretty important to you,” she said, and he took in the way Clarke trembled where she laid, the way tears tracked down her cheeks.  White hot anger flooded his veins, something he hadn’t felt in years, and he did his best to shove it down.

“She is,” he said lowly, making sure Clarke was looking at him as he did.   _ I’m sorry.  Sorry for leaving you behind, sorry for not coming sooner, sorry for everything _ , he wanted to say, but they were surrounded by hostiles and he didn’t like the look of the collar around her neck.  Hope flickered in her eyes and his heart gave a painful thump.

“So what are you proposing?” the woman asked.  Clarke glanced at the man in the beanie and Bellamy noticed the receiver he was holding, the meaning behind her collar and her prostrate form clicking into place.

“Not until she’s free,” he growled, finally looking at his adversary.  “Let her go, then we’ll talk.”

She cocked her head and the long, snaking scar on her neck stretched.  “We have the guns.”

“And we have your people.  Take that thing off her and we can sit down and talk this through.”

She signaled to her man, who reluctantly pocketed the receiver.  The rest lowered their guns and Bellamy breathed a little easier. He looked from the leader to Clarke, waiting for her nod.  Her chin had barely moved and he was crossing the space between them to crouch down in front of Clarke. “Hey there,” he said soothingly, reaching out to touch her shoulder.  “Let’s get you out of this.”

“Bellamy?” she rasped.

“It’s me,” he assured her.  Clarke’s hand gripped his forearm and he blinked.  He still couldn't believe it, but Clarke was warm and solid and breathing hard under his touch.  He helped her up and someone else darted forward. Bellamy flinched, hand automatically dropping to his hip for a gun that wasn’t there, but the man raised his hands placatingly.  “I’m just helping you get her inside,” he said. He took Clarke’s other arm and slung it over his shoulder.

Bellamy took most of Clarke’s weight, her legs worryingly shaky, and they slowly made their way up the steps of what he was now realizing was a church.  “I thought we were going to talk,” the woman called after them.

Bellamy turned his head to answer but the other man beat him to it.  “They need a minute,” he told her. “I’ll watch the front. You send someone to the back, and when they’re ready, we’ll talk.”  This one had a ring of authority to his voice that Bellamy didn’t fail to note. “They’re not going anywhere, Colonel.”

_ Military.  Makes sense _ , he thought, and the other man shouldered open the door.  It was dark inside save for a circle of fire. Clarke put more of her weight on her feet, standing up slowly.  Bellamy let his arm drop from her and immediately regretted it. Without her in his arms he went back to doubting that this was even happening.  “Thanks,” Bellamy said to their seeming ally. “I’m Bellamy.”

“Zeke.  That out there is Diyoza.  She doesn’t screw around so don’t try anything, okay?”

“We won’t,” Clarke said hoarsely.

Zeke looked between them, eyes sharp.  “I’ll give you two a minute,” he said.

The moment the door swung shut Clarke collapsed into his arms.  He buried his face in her neck and breathed her in, sweat and pine and dirt and  _ Clarke, _ warm and vibrant against him.  For the space of several heartbeats they held each other, her lips on his collarbone and his nose in her hair.  “You came,” she murmured, and he blinked back tears.

“Of course I did,” he whispered.  “Madi saved us, you know.”

Clarke jolted out of his arms.  “Where’s—”

“She took the rover back to the others,” he said, hands skimming down her arms. “Echo and Harper won’t let anything happen to her.” Something like guilt fluttered in his stomach but he ignored it in favor of wrapping his fingers around her shoulders.  

Clarke’s eyes widened.  “On the radio they said five, not seven—”

“Murphy and Raven are up on their other ship, covering our backs,” he said soothingly.  He curved his hand along her jaw, fingers threaded into her hair. “Everyone’s safe. Everyone’s alive.”  His thumb swept across her cheekbone. “You’re alive,” he added, awed.

Clarke’s shoulders loosened and her forehead came to rest against his, her breath unsteady.  “You came,” she repeated, and the disbelief in her voice landed like a blow to his sternum.

Her eyelashes brushed his cheeks and the backs of his knuckles found her collar, snapping him back into reality.  “Let’s get this off of you,” he suggested, throat thick. Clarke sat down heavily on the edge of the broad firepit and Bellamy lifted her hair to get a look at the clasping mechanism.  He frowned and glanced about the church, eyes landing on a small tool Zeke must have left them. He fit it into the slots at the base of her spine and the collar released.

Clarke gulped for air and Bellamy hissed at the sight of her burned flesh.  “There’s a med kit,” Clarke said, pointing towards a small box he hadn’t noticed.  “You’ll have to—”

“Clean it before dressing it, I know,” he teased gently.  “I did learn somethings up on the Ark.”

Her cheek twitched in something resembling a smile.  “From who?”

“Murphy, if you can believe it,” he said.  He found the salve he was looking for and flipped the cap open.  “This is going to sting,” he warned.

“Not more than it already did,” she said dryly, but she still curled her fingers around the edge of the pit for support.

She inhaled sharply when he touched her burn for the first time, and the sound cut through him like a knife.   _  I should have gotten here sooner.  Ten minutes earlier. A week ago. A year ago, anything. I never should have left you behind. _  Guilt settled heavily into his gut, flashes of Echo dancing behind his eyelids.  It felt disloyal, feeling like this for Clarke, but everything had happened so fast he hadn’t even had a chance to think about what that might mean for him and Echo.  Relief and ecstasy warred with uncertainty and regret, but for now he let the happiness win.

Clarke was alive. He could figure the rest out later.

“So what’s the plan?” Clarke gritted out, and he could tell that even though his touches were feather light he was still hurting her.  He bit his lip and lifted her chin so he could dress her wound in the front.

“That was it, basically,” he admitted.  “We’ve got people on their ship and they’ve got Eden. We work out a trade.”

“Eden,” Clarke said softly.  “That’s what you call it?”

He tucked her hair behind her ear and tilted her head to the side.  “It seemed fitting. What’s its real name?”

“Shallow Valley. It’s where Madi grew up.”

Bellamy finished with the salve and reached for the gauze.  “They’re miners. They’ll have equipment that could free the bunker.”

“So that’s two things they have that we want and we’ve still only got the ship as leverage,” Clarke countered.  Her fingers fluttered at the smooth white gauze.  “How are we gonna get out of this?”

“We’ll figure something out,” he said with shrug and a flicker of a smile.  “Plans were never really my forte, you know.”

Clarke curled her hands around his wrists and he secured the bandage, their foreheads pressing together once more.  “No, they weren’t,” she agreed, and he lifted his chin to place a kiss between her brows. From the moment he’d stepped off the rocket the world had seemed too vivid, too  _ real _ , after six years of nothing but metal and engines.  The chirping of crickets and the soft sigh of the breeze through the forest had been disorienting, but now, with her skin salty against his lips, he’d never felt more grounded.

“Good thing I’ve got you for that.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always, please don't use the comments to work out your feelings for becho or any possible love triangle. I totally understand if it's not your thing, but getting a stream of "I hate becho but..." or "I'm worried canon will..." comments is not really fun for me, so please take that into consideration.
> 
> xoxo, hawthornewhisperer.


	77. alone

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Based on a twitter discussion of Clarke maybe having hallucinated Bellamy before he really came back, making her doubt whether or not the Bellamy of 503 was real. Mildly spoilery for 504.

Clarke hadn’t realized it was possible to still get sick when there was only one other person on the planet.  She should have, of course— germs were literally some of the first organisms to evolve— but she hadn’t really given it much thought.  Besides, for the first three years after Praimfaya, neither she nor Madi had gotten sick from anything that wasn’t poorly cooked food. **  
**

So when Madi caught the flu, she really should have seen it coming.  But she was so caught up in worry about Madi, in her fear over her fever and chills and how limp she became in Clarke’s arms, that she didn’t even think about what might happen next.

But two days after Madi was back up on her feet, demanding to be in charge of checking the snares, Clarke felt a tickle in the back of her throat.  By nightfall she was unaccountably chilled, considering it was only early fall, and she told Madi to leave her food at the door to the church and not come any closer until she said it was okay.  Madi should be immune, theoretically, but Clarke wasn’t sure what sort of supergerms could survive Praimfaya and she didn’t want to risk it.  So she barricaded herself in the church and hoped the worst would pass quickly.

But even as she drifted into a restless, trembling sleep, she knew it would be bad.

The next morning she woke drenched in sweat but somehow shivering, and she stumbled twice on her way to the door.  Madi had put blueberries in her porridge but even those tasted like chalk on on her tongue.  Clarke choked it down as best she could and refilled her canteen blearily.  She staggered back to her bed and tossed a few more logs on the fire, despite the fact that part of her brain was telling her it was already stifling inside.

She buried herself under three blankets and a panther skin and watched the fire until her eyes blurred and she once more tipped over into sleep.  Her dreams were unsettled and indistinct, vague terrors rising and evaporating before she could make heads or tails of them, and when she woke the church was pitch black.

It took her far too long to realize the fire had gone out, and even longer to realize her legs were so fatigued and shaky she couldn’t stand long enough to rekindle it.  She plucked blindly at the blankets that were now tangled around her legs, trying to bring them back up to her chin, and noticed movement out of the corner of her eye.

“Madi?” she croaked, squinting.  “Is that you?”

The figure didn’t respond and she struggled to sit up, a sudden spike of fear pulsing through her.  “It’s just me,” a low, familiar voice said.

“Bellamy?”

“Looks like you managed to get yourself sick,” he replied, emerging from the shadows.  He looked just like he did on the day they left her behind, vac suit unzipped to his waist.  That familiar henley stretched across his chest and he sat down on the edge of her bed, eyes soft and comforting.

“When did you— how did— it’s not long enough,” she murmured.  Her brain was like a puzzle with the pieces missing, and she kept trying to jam the ones she had together even though they didn’t quite fit.  “You have to wait five years, the radiation—”

“The radiation wouldn’t keep me from you, you know that,” he chided.  He had that half-smile on his face like he always did when things weren’t really funny but he was trying to make her smile anyway.  He helped her wrangle the blankets back up over her shoulders, their weight settling across her body like an embrace.

“How did you get in here?” Her throat felt like gravel and she fumbled for her canteen, sipping slowly.

“Don’t you worry about that yet,” Bellamy said gently.  “You get some sleep and let me take care of you for awhile.”

Tears sprang into her eyes.  It had been years since anyone fussed over her, since anyone had been there to help her shoulder the burden.  “Madi—”

“I’ve got her.  You get some sleep and we can deal with it in the morning.”

The tears were hot on her cheeks despite her fever, and she shivered.  “Together?”

“That’s the deal, isn’t it?  You and me.  Together,” he agreed.  He brushed her hair back, featherlight, and she let herself fall back asleep.

Because she wasn’t alone anymore.

The next morning dawned grey and chilly.  Clarke woke to Madi piling wood into the firepit in the center of the church.  “Madi? I told you to stay out of here,” she said, looking around.  There was no sign of Bellamy, and a warning bell went off in her dulled, muddled mind.

Madi didn’t turn around, too busy with the flint.  “And I would have, but you let the fire go out,” Madi said.  “It’s cold, and you said that’s bad when you’re sick.”

 _Let Bellamy do it._  The words were on the tip of her tongue, but then the world slid back into focus.

If Bellamy really had come back, he would have already lit the fire.  He never would have sent in Madi, and Madi would be bubbling with questions.

If Bellamy really had come back, he’d stay where she could see him.  He wouldn’t leave her side.  Not now, not after so long.

And besides, there were still two more years to go before he could step foot on the earth without burning up from the inside out.

Reality hit her like a boulder crashing down a mountain.   _Together_  was a distant memory, that’s all.  Her brain was trying to comfort her when she was ill, and the fever had made it seem real.

Bellamy was in space— or dead— and Clarke was alone with only a determined nine year old for company.  Madi got the fire going and Clarke blinked back her tears, because she wasn’t alone— not really.  She had Madi, and Madi was everything.

But as she fell back to her pillows she closed her eyes and tried to remember how his fingers felt threading through her hair.

And a tear slipped down her cheek.

* * *

The bench was cold.

No, cool, or maybe she’d warmed it up some since they dumped her here.  It was soothing against her heated skin, at least. There was a faint hiss of recycled air and the hum of an engine, foreign in her ears after all this time.  Clarke blinked, the yellow-orange glare of the lights stinging her eyes, and decided to just keep them closed.

Footsteps came and went outside of her cell and every few minutes her muscles would jerk involuntarily.  When they brought her in she thought her leg muscles would never stop jumping, that her hands would never uncurl, but now it had faded to the occasional twitch of a limb and a burning sensation in her throat.

At least it was better than the collar, which was pain like she’d never felt before.  It shattered the world into jagged shards and turned her muscles to stone, and when she collapsed to the ground it made her dig her face into the dirt and wish she’d been buried under it six years ago.  They laughed at her and the world splintered further, until there was nothing but pain and fear and screams that might have been hers.

It had happened so fast.  One minute she was burning, her nerves screaming in agony, and then the next he was walking into a bright circle of light to demand her freedom.  Diyoza had ordered her dragged out of the circle of her tormentors so quickly she could barely get a glimpse of him.

Bellamy.

Alive.

Bellamy had come for _her._

Or maybe he hadn’t.  Maybe the shocks had done to her what that fever did— unlocked the part of her brain that wanted to ease her suffering.  She could keep it at bay usually, but maybe now, weakened from her torture and the suffocating fear of what would happen if they found Madi, it was trying to give her peace.

Maybe she was dying, and her mind had given her the one thing she didn’t dare to hope for.

Footsteps paused outside her cell and the door swung open.  It took everything in her to twist her neck but she had to be sure, wanted to face whoever was coming for her if it was the last thing she did.

He was hidden by shadows but his shape was achingly familiar.  He stepped into the light, brow furrowed in concern, and then he was jogging across the cell to her bench.  She struggled to sit up but his arms were there, wrapping around her and lifting her up so lightly she still thought it might be a dream.

His eyes found hers, cloudy with fear and disbelief and something else she couldn’t quite read, and she surrendered herself to the hallucination.  She melted into him.  It was solace, sweet relief and peace and closure at what had to be the end. His chest was solid, warm; his arms clutching her against him strong and steady.  She breathed him in, metal and pine and the tang of smoke, and felt his lips come to rest on the curve of her neck.  

But her hallucination hadn’t had weight when he sat down, had only touched her so lightly it could have been the breeze.  He didn’t hold her tightly; he didn’t have a smell that unlocked something deep in her belly. He’d looked the way she remembered, not like this— older and a little weathered, with a beard that scratched softly at her skin as he rocked her back and forth in his embrace.

Clarke let her eyes flutter closed.  “You’re really here,” she murmured, and felt his chest rumble against hers in recognition.  That, more than anything, made her certain.

_Bellamy had come for her._

And another tear slipped down her cheek.


	78. sunrise

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Missing scene from 504. As this is set in canonverse, that means becho is a thing and Echo is on Bellamy’s mind. If you find that upsetting I totally get that, but would gently suggest you skip this ficlet.

Clarke was exhausted. **  
**

It wasn’t just the torture; it was in the dark circles stamped under her eyes and the way she seemed to be moving as if she was underwater, slow and hesitant.  Bellamy wondered how long she’d been awake before he arrived— days, by the look of it.  He had to fight the instinct to hold her arm to keep her upright, but he’d already seen the shrewd looks Diyoza cast their way when he helped her buckle into the seat before take off.

 _Best not to give that one any leverage,_  he decided, but it still went against everything inside of him to watch Clarke slump against a broken column while the miners debated the best way to break open the bunker.  Finally they agreed on a plan and started assembling the crane, piece by piece.

The young pilot caught his eye and pitched his voice low under the screech of drills.  “This’ll take a few hours.  Why don’t you two go catch some shut-eye?”

Bellamy looked warily at Diyoza, but the pilot was already one step ahead of him.  “Whatever she knows about you two, she already knows.  That girl is about to collapse, and there’s no way we’re going to get this bunker open before dawn.”

Bellamy nodded in thanks and touched Clarke’s elbow.  She flinched and he wondered if it was him or just being touched in general that startled her, but now was not the time to sort that out.  He tipped his head away from the crowd and she followed him silently, their unspoken ability to read one another not dulled by the years apart.

Bellamy rounded a corner and decided here was as good a place as any. He sank to the ground, back against a still-standing wall, and patted the space beside him.  Clarke collapsed beside him, head dropping back against the cement.  “You’re sure Madi’s safe?” Clarke asked.

“Positive.  Between Echo and Harper, no one can touch her,” he said, and she blew out a sigh of relief.  “Get some sleep,” he said.  “I’ve got watch.”

A smile flickered across her face and faded just as quickly.  She closed her eyes and within minutes her breathing evened out.  For the first time since Emori touched down, he had a moment to think.

Barely four hours ago, he had known three things for certain: Clarke was dead, Octavia was alive, and Octavia was being hunted.  But now the world was upside down, his sister buried under an entire city and Clarke was next to him, breathing softly through parted lips.

It had taken him years to bury his grief for her,  _years._  It was a long, slow process of putting himself back together, bit by broken bit, fashioning himself into someone who could survive without Clarke, who could be the man she always knew he could be.  And he’d gotten there eventually, to the point where the mention of her name was just a soft flare of regret and not an open, bleeding wound.  He was whole again, the part of him who cared for her carefully tucked away in his heart, and he had managed to find happiness again.

But now— now he didn’t know where he stood.  He’d never stopped loving her, but that wasn’t an action anymore so much as part of who he was.  Clarke was just a memory and someone else was his future.

That memory dropped her head to his shoulder and he automatically lifted his arm to tuck her closer, guilt roiling his belly as he did so.  Clarke sighed and shifted in her sleep, nuzzling into his neck, and Bellamy closed his eyes because it still did not seem real.

But it was, and that meant what he was doing was wrong.  He hated himself for every second that Clarke slumbered peacefully in his arms but he still couldn’t bring himself to move away.  He pressed his lips to the top of her head instead, breathing in the sweet scent of her hair and listening to the machines in the distance.  It was more than he ever let himself hope for, so of course it would be the one thing he couldn’t have.

He told himself it was nothing, that he had touched the rest of them even more intimately than this and it didn’t mean anything.  He’d passed out next to Monty more than once; had shared a bunk with Raven that month the heating systems went haywire and they all almost froze every night.  Hell, the night Murphy and Emori broke up for good Bellamy had held him in his arms while he cried, only to be sworn to secrecy the next morning.

But daylight crept back into the world, the sky shifting from black to grey to purple, and he knew he was lying to himself.  Clarke seemed to glow in the soft morning light and it was too much, too painful, too real.  So he shifted just enough to wake her and keep himself from doing something they could never take back.

Clarke sat up slowly, her eyes finding his.  She smiled and he knew he needed to tell her about Echo, to stop lying to himself and to her and to everyone, but he stayed quiet.  She repositioned herself against the rubble, no longer touching him but close enough that he wanted her to, and nodded towards the sunrise.

“Bet you haven’t seen one of these in awhile,” she said drily.

It was true— this was the first sunrise he’d seen in six years.  The sky was gold now, pure and clear, but he kept his eyes on her because soon he would have to break this spell.  He smiled softly and memorized the way she looked, hazy with sleep but relaxed; open in a way he’d never seen her before.  “I haven’t.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Again, it’s totally cool if you’re not on the becho train, but it’s a dynamic I enjoy so please keep that in mind do not use the comments here to complain about either Echo or becho, or list your fears about them in canon, or express your desire for Bellamy to dump her, etc. (And if these warnings seem excessive to you, just know that despite them being attached to every ficlet I've written this season with any becho at all, I'm still getting reviews full of becho negativity. I'm trying, y'all. Please work with me.) xoxo, hawthornewhisperer.


	79. every day

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Post 505 spec ficlet, because I want reverse Hakeldama so bad I can taste it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Since this is in canon, Bellamy is with Echo and that will be acknowledged. By reading this fic, you're agreeing to keep any negative Echo/Becho thoughts to yourself, up to and including "I normally hate becho, but [x]", okay?
> 
> Thanks, my dudes.

Bellamy ducked into Clarke’s tent, his latest round with Octavia still echoing in his mind.

“Hey Madi, did you get the—” Clarke turned and frowned at him, bedroll neatly tied to her bag.  “Have you seen Madi?” she asked.

“I think she was by the water reclaimer. I was wondering if—”

“Can you hand me that?” Clarke interrupted.  She pointed at the small stack of rations near the opening.

“Going somewhere?” he asked instead. Clarke refused to look at him, counting off on her fingers as she looked into her bag and furrowed her brow.  “Clarke?”

She sat back on her heels and glanced at him, but not for long.  “If I tell you, you can’t tell Octavia.”

His heart sank.  “You’re taking Diyoza’s deal.”

“She has my mom, Bellamy. And Kane.  And Shallow Valley— it’s Madi’s. It’s our  _ home.” _

“You can’t trust her,” he countered.  “I made a deal with her once, and look at what that got us.”

“That was different.  Wonkru— there’s so many of them.  This is just me and Madi, and I can be helpful.”  She kept fussing with the clasps on her bag, never looking at him for more than a second at a time.

“It’s not safe,” he said, and an almost-forgotten the pressure took up residence on his chest once more.   _ This _ was what it was like, worrying about Clarke.  For so long it had become something else; at first a jagged, gaping wound and then later like a bruise, painful but muted. But neither of those were like the gnawing anxiety that went along with Clarke being alive and refusing to take care of herself and he'd forgotten what it was like.  “I’ve been talking to Octavia, and—”

“There’s no point, Bellamy.  She’s never going to make peace with them and I can’t risk putting Madi in that kind of danger.”   Clarke stood and threw her pack over her shoulder, and he couldn’t believe what he was seeing.  After everything, after  _ six years _ of mourning her death, he’d finally gotten Clarke back.

And she was leaving.

“So you’re going?” he asked, dazed.

Clarke went to push past him.  “You don’t have to worry about me anymore,” she muttered, and anger he wasn’t sure he was allowed to feel bubbled in his veins.  

His hand darted out and caught her forearm, turning her around.  “Like hell I won’t,” he snapped. “Do you really think I’ll worry about you  _ less _ if you’re with them?”

Clarke kept her face away from him and wrenched her arm free.  “It doesn’t matter, okay?”

“Since when?” he growled, the anger building.  “Since when have I not cared about you?” Memories of the first months on the ark flickered through his mind; long, dark nights with nothing to keep him occupied, imagining what it would be like to be incinerated because you were left behind by the people who promised to protect you.

By the person who loved you and never got the chance to tell you.

Clarke finally looked at him and he wished she hadn’t, because the pain in her eyes cut him to the quick.  “Do I really have to say it?” she said, sadness and fury thickening her voice.

_ You moved on. _

So much had gone unspoken with them.  That was how they operated, in half sentences and meaningful looks and confessions withheld because the time wasn’t right.  They’d picked up right where they left off, but now the weight of everything unsaid between them threatened to crush them both.

“Yes, you do,” he spat.  “Say it.”

Clarke narrowed her eyes, the sadness fading away.  “Fine. Echo helped blow up Mount Weather, and now you’re with her?”

“And Lexa turned us both into murderers there, but you loved her anyway,” he threw back without missing a beat.  “What did you expect me to do, become a monk because I thought you were dead?”

Clarke stepped back, reeling, and crossed her arms, fury sparking in her eyes. “You want to know how I survived down here?" she asked, voice rising. "You. I called you on that shitty radio on the rover, every single day for six years.   _ You _ were what kept me sane when I was alone and when Madi was little and when she was having a shitty day and— god, Bellamy, I talked to you  _ every day. _  And now—”

_ Now you’re with her. _

It hung between them, unsaid but plain as day.  It had taken him years to put himself back together after Praimfaya, and the day he noticed the way Echo’s hips swayed when she walked was as if he was waking up from a long, endless nightmare.  It had taken him another year to act on that thought, and only in the last few months had he finally felt whole, not just like someone pretending to be.

Everything changed the moment Madi burst from the woods.  He didn’t know how to reconcile who he was with who he became, because Clarke was part of both and now so was Echo.   Being with Echo was a betrayal of Clarke and being with Clarke was a betrayal of Echo.  No matter what, he was hurting someone, and that knowledge was suffocating him.

But all of that faded away when her words sank in.  “You— you called me?”

“Every day,” she said flatly, and this time when she stalked past him, he was too stunned to stop her.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please remember: I like Becho and Echo, and have zero control over canon so if you're upset that it's happening, can you please keep that out of the comments here? I will love you forever if you do, and will hold a mild grudge against you if you don't.


	80. the obvious answer

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Post 505 (ish) tent sharing ficlet, and we’re just gonna pretend for plot reasons that the fireside conversation and the things with the worms happened on two separate nights.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Since this is in canon, Bellamy is with Echo and that will be acknowledged. By reading this fic, you’re agreeing to keep any negative Echo/Becho thoughts to yourself, up to and including “I normally hate becho, but [x]”, okay? Okay, cool.

Clarke let the tent flap close behind her, her hands shaking slightly.  She balled them into fists and ignored it, because there was no reason to feel like this.  Bellamy had asked a simple question—  _how did you survive alone_ — and she had given him a simple answer–  _Madi_ — but it felt like a lie.  

The real answer had been on the tip of her tongue, but suddenly she couldn’t do it.  For six years, she’d told him everything: her hopes, her fears, her dreams for a better future for all of them.  And now he was here and she was tongue tied, frozen by doubts and uncertainty, because the Bellamy who walked into that halo of light back in the village wasn’t quite the Bellamy she remembered.

He was softer now; gentler and quieter.  She had always known the firebrand who taunted her outside the dropship was just an act, but now she realized how much of an act it must have been.  Because this Bellamy was so deliberate, so thoughtful in everything he did, that it was hard to remember just how harsh and brazen he used to be.  And even though knew this was inside him all along, it was still hard to realize that the boy she’d known was completely gone.

So she held back, even though she didn’t really have a reason to, and hoped that he would have as hard of a time reading her as she did him.

But now she had another problem.  Wonkru was nothing if not efficient, and that meant solitary tents were a waste of resources.  Bellamy had accepted that pronouncement with a shrug and  _a sometimes the heating went out on the Ark; I’m used to sharing,_  and for the first six hours of the hike, Clarke had assumed he meant when he was growing up.  There only would have been two beds in their compartment on Mecha Station and three people, so it made sense, but then Bellamy mentioned something about algae while they waited for their rations and she realized: he was talking about the last six years instead.

Something oddly painful coursed through her at that, the knowledge that Bellamy had a whole life she had only begun to comprehend.  It made her feel lonely in a way she hadn’t felt in a long time, abandoned and forgotten.

She put that out of her head and arranged the bedrolls next to each other, and had almost managed to drift off when Bellamy ducked inside.  He moved silently, toeing off his boots and placing his jacket on the ground.  “How’d you learn to be so quiet?” she asked, and he startled.

“Sorry, didn’t mean to wake you,” he said, and the wind whipped at the walls of the tent ferociously.

“You didn’t.”  She rolled over to face him and noticed a strange look on his face as he looked at the bedrolls.  “But you were never much of a hunter, you know.”

Bellamy shrugged and a thick, awkward silence set in.  “It was, uh, Echo.  She taught us all.”

“Oh,” Clarke replied, and Bellamy kept frowning at the bedrolls as though a river monster was waiting underneath.  “It gets cold out here,” she explained.  “Colder than you’d think.  It’s best if we’re close.”  When she’d laid them out it had seemed like the most practical option, especially given Bellamy’s nonchalance about sharing a tent with her, but now it felt presumptuous and she wasn’t sure why.

Bellamy nodded carefully and slipped under the covers.  The zippers faced each other, open just enough for his heat to slowly seep towards her, and Clarke watched him in the dim light.  “Night,” she said after a moment, and he flashed her a half-smile.

“Night,” he replied.

Sleep came easily after that, and at some point during the night Clarke burrowed closer to his warmth, her brain foggy with sleep and her body aching for closeness.  It wasn’t a conscious thought so much as instinct; something deep inside of her craving a connection she thought she’d lost.  Bellamy made a quiet noise and tucked his arm around her, his slow, steady breathing never hitching into waking and she drifted off again, enveloped by his weight and heat.

When she blinked herself back to waking, her first thought was that in six years, she’d never felt so peaceful.  Bellamy’s arm was lower now, resting heavily across her waist, and his breath was ruffling the hair at the back of her neck.  She wanted nothing more than to turn over and curl into him, bury her nose in his collarbone and let her hands explore the broad expanse of his back, but she was petrified of breaking the spell.

Something pressed against her backside and she bit back a smile, knowing it was nothing more than a biological response.  A deep, needy part of her wanted to rock back against it, feel his thick cock drag against her clit, but she stayed frozen in place, not wanting to cross that line for either of them until she was sure.

Bellamy coughed and shifted suddenly, his hips drawing back from her while his arm followed.  She pretended to have just woken and rolled over slowly.  “Did you sleep well?” she asked, eyes still heavy lidded.

But Bellamy had that look on his face again, stricken and uncomfortable.  “Yeah, uh— sorry for— sorry about—”

She sat up, deciding it was best to act as if nothing was wrong, and stretched.  “Like I said, it gets cold out here,” she said breezily.  “Sharing body heat makes sense.”

Bellamy rolled to his back and put his arm across his face, nodding.  Something uncomfortable coiled low in her belly, a feeling like she had ruined something without intending to, but she wasn’t sure when or how.  But it made her feel lonely again, like she could never quite bridge the six year gap between them. 

So she set about packing up and he did too, carefully avoiding eye contact.  He spent most of the hike with Miller, and by the time she worked up the courage to ask him what was wrong everything had gone to hell.  Between the worms and the sandstorms and the missiles it felt petty and childish to ask if he was avoiding her, and when the day finally broke bright and clear, she was still struggling to find the words.

But then the rover pulled into camp and she didn’t need to ask him anymore, because it was painfully, glaringly clear.

He was in love with someone else.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N 2.0: Please remember: I like Becho and Echo and have zero control over canon so if you’re upset that it’s happening, can you please keep that out of the comments and tags here? I will love you forever if you do, and will hold a mild grudge against you if you don’t.


	81. The only choice

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Because I want a reverse hakeldama so badly I will write every possible iteration of it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Since this is in canon, Bellamy is with Echo and that will be acknowledged. By reading this fic, you’re agreeing to keep any negative Echo/Becho thoughts to yourself, up to and including “I normally hate becho, but [x]”, okay? Okay, cool.

Bellamy waited until Monty had followed Octavia out of the room to shut the door.  “I’ll go,” Clarke volunteered the second the lock clicked into place. “Diyoza will be expecting me to come alone.”

“No,” Bellamy said, an edge of panic in his voice.  “Clarke, you— you can’t.”

“It’s our only choice, Bellamy.”

Recognition flashed in his eyes and he shook his head.  “We have to think about this,” he pleaded.

“Diyoza is offering a truce.  We can’t afford to risk losing everything and this is our best option.  If I take the rover and meet her in the dead zone I can be back before dark.”

“I already made a deal with her and she broke it,” he countered.  “We don’t know that we can trust her.”

“We know we can’t trust your sister,” Clarke snapped.  “I’m done talking about this— make sure nothing happens to Madi, and I’ll be back as soon as I can.”

Clarke made to leave but Bellamy blocked her, arms crossed and jaw tight.  She reached around him for the door handle anyway, but he still refused to move. The door hit his heels and bounced shut.  “Move,” she growled. Panic was building in her chest now, fear for Madi blending with the oppressive cloud that had hovered over her since the rover arrived in the dead zone.

Because when Bellamy had walked into the circle of light in the village, Clarke had finally been able to breathe again.  He was different, sure, but so was she and all that mattered was he had come back to her. The little hints of how much he’d changed were just details.

But then time wore on and she started noticing the differences more and more.  It wasn’t just the beard— it was the way his shoulders hung loose instead of taut, the softness in his eyes that used to stay hidden but now was ever-present, and something else, something deeper she couldn’t quite name.

Until Echo came running out of the rover and straight into his arms, and then it all made sense.

At first she told herself it didn’t hurt, that it didn’t open a crack in her chest that felt like a broken bone.  But the more she watched them, at turns tender and playful, the wider that crack became, and now the panic written all over his face— panic for Echo, not for her— made it impossible to deny the pain.  She didn’t want to feel this way, fought it with every step she took, but if there was one thing she had learned in the six years in Shallow Valley, it was that some things were inevitable. Winter followed fall and spring followed winter, and feelings couldn’t be ignored for long.

That didn’t stop her from trying, though.  Even as it became more and more clear her friends had left her behind in more ways than one.  She shoved those feelings aside and focused on the problem in front of her, long-forgotten coping mechanisms rising to the challenge.

“Move,” she said again, but Bellamy stayed put.  “Get out of my way, Bellamy,” she begged. “Don’t— don’t do this.”

“Do what?”

“Pretend you care,” she spat, and it was as if she’d slapped him.  His jaw went slack and his eyebrows went up, and Clarke would have given anything to not be able to read the pain and surprise on his face just then.  His arms unraveled just as she crossed hers.

“I don’t— you— going alone could put you in danger,” he sputtered, and everything building inside of her crested at once.

“I said don’t,” she hissed.  “If Diyoza takes me out, I’d be doing you all a favor.  So don’t pretend like you give a shit and  _ let me go.” _  She wasn’t being fair but the instinct to lash out was too strong.  She was hurting and she wanted him to hurt too, if only because it was proof he cared, however little it was.

“How could you think that?” he said, softening all at once, and she instantly regretted wanting to cause him pain but someone needed to go meet Diyoza and it might as well be her..

“Because I’ve been in the way.  Ever since you all got back you’ve regretted it, and don’t deny it.  Monty even  _ said _ so.  Coming back to the ground was the biggest mistake you ever made, so I’m going to try and solve this for us and if I die, well— then I die.  Take care of Madi for me.”

Bellamy reached out for her arm and she jerked away.  “Clarke,” he said, her name coming out like a pained sigh.  “That’s not what he meant.” His eyes were glossy and she hardened her heart.

“It’s not?  Because it sure as hell seems that way.”  She turned away from him and then whirled back, emotion overruling the instinct of self-preservation that had kept this part of her tucked away.  “I talked to you, did you know that?” she asked bitterly. “I radioed you. Every day. Not the Ark, not the others— you. You asked how I survived alone? I survived because of  _ you. _  Because of who I thought you were, who I knew you wanted me to be.  I counted down the days until you were supposed to come back, and then I kept going when you didn’t show up.  I kept going, and now—” Tears made her throat thick and she shook her head. “Now you don’t even care,” she whispered.

“Don’t say that,” he said gently, and she turned her back on him.  She wiped a tear and looked up at the ceiling, willing the rest not to fall.  “Clarke, look at me,” he asked.

She ignored him.

His hand touched her shoulder and she flinched but didn’t step away.  “I care,” he said in a familiar rasp. “I’ll always care. When I thought you died, I— I almost lost it.  Probably would have, except I knew you needed me to take care of them. And I spent so many nights wishing I could talk to you, say the things I wanted to say and never got the chance.  I never let myself hope you survived because I knew  _ I _ wouldn’t survive coming back and finding that you didn’t.  But you did, and I— I know it’s not the same, but I never stopped—” he broke off and cleared his throat.  “I never stopped caring about you. I never will. And I won’t let you go charging into danger thinking I don’t.”

His words fit into her heart like a key, unlocking something she wanted to keep buried.  Slowly she turned and found her way into his arms, his scent comforting even as a now-familiar ache settled into her gut.  She nestled into her place, her nose finding the crook of his neck and her arms spanning his lower back, and he tucked his chin to rest his lips on the top of her head.  “I still have to go meet Diyoza,” she whispered, and Bellamy made a soft noise in response. “I do,” she insisted, pulling back to look him in the eye. “It’s the only way for all of us to survive.”

“I know,” he said sadly, his thumb brushing her cheek.  “But you’re wrong about one thing.” Clarke opened her mouth to protest and he shook his head, tugging her back against his chest.  “You’re not going alone,” he murmured into her hair.

And for the first time in days, Clarke let herself smile.

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N 2.0: Please remember: I like Becho and Echo and have zero control over canon so if you’re upset that it’s happening, can you please keep that out of the comments here? I will love you forever if you do, and will hold a mild grudge against you if you don’t.


	82. final goodbyes

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Post 508, but not particularly spoilery. Basically, what if Bellamy and Clarke were going to be put into the arena together?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, two things:
> 
> 1) Bellamy is still with Echo in this, so if cheating squicks you out even the slightest bit, go ahead and skip this one. It's mild, but consider yourself warned.
> 
> 2) I like Echo and Becho, so please keep any and all "I hate Echo" comments to yourself, up to and including "I normally hate this, but not here."

Clarke paced around the room.  There was one door, no windows, and two armed guards waiting outside. She couldn’t break out, and her odds of fighting her way out were not good.  That left subterfuge, but she doubted the guards would fall for her pretending to be sick. She was the only prisoner, so they would be on high alert to any noises or absence thereof, too.

She stopped her circuit and sat down, pressing the heel of her palms into her eye sockets.  Stars bloomed behind her eyelids and the door screeched open.

Clarke was on her feet in seconds.  Bellamy entered and for a second she wondered if he’d done it— if he’d managed to talk her free again— but then she realized his hands were behind his back and her heart sank.

The guards took off the cuffs and slammed the door behind them.  Bellamy looked at her, pain etched into his face, and shook his head.  “I’m sorry,” he whispered.

Panic bloomed in her gut.   _ You promised to take care of Madi _ , she wanted to scream, but he looked so broken she didn’t have the heart.  “What happened?” she asked instead.

Bellamy sank to the bench.  “I tried,” he said roughly.

The full meaning of his presence hit her.   _ The arena. Octavia is going to make us fight in the arena. _  “We can fix this,” she said hurriedly.  “I know we can. We can— we can—” she cast around for a solution, a way for them to upend the battle to the death Wonkru was expecting.

“You know what you need to do,” Bellamy said in that same quiet, broken voice.

“No.”

“Clarke, you—”

“No,” she said again, desperate.  She knew what he was going to say and that wasn’t an option.  “We’ll think of something.”

“Clarke, listen to me,” he said.  He lifted his head to look at her, eyes wet.  “You have to make it out. Madi needs you.”

Clarke resumed her pacing, refusing to make eye contact.  “They have to give us weapons, and there’s probably only a few guards at the arena exit.  We can—”

Bellamy shook his head.  “You have Madi to think about. I won’t fight you.  You do what needs to be done. Get out, take care of her.”

“Bellamy,  _ no. _ ”

“It’s our only choice,” he barreled on.  “I won’t— I left you to die once before. I won’t let that happen again.”

“We can—”

“They won’t let us both out alive, Clarke.  Please, let me do this.”

She finally stopped pacing and sat down next to him.  “What about Echo?”

The question hung in the air.  She had never felt like she had the right to ask him about her, but now, with the seconds remaining to them ticking down, she saw no point in demurring. 

Bellamy looked toward the door.  “Echo’s a survivor,” he said hoarsely.  “She’ll understand.”

“She—”

“She doesn’t need me the way Madi needs you.  She’ll be okay.  We already said goodbye, anyway.”

Tears sprang into her eyes at the resignation in his voice.  “Bellamy, I—”

He sniffed and let out a short, dry laugh.  “I spent years thinking about what I would say to you if I had one last chance,” he said bitterly.  “So much I wanted to say to you, and now—”

“It’s not over.  We’re going to find a way out of this,” she insisted, resting her hand between his shoulder blades.

Bellamy shook his head again and wiped away a tear with his knuckle.  Slowly he turned to look at her, their faces just millimeters apart. “Clarke,” he breathed, his nose brushing her jaw.

The way her name sounded on his lips broke her heart.  She’d done this too often, said enough goodbyes to last a lifetime, but she knew what it was like to crave comfort at a moment like this.  Her forehead came to rest on his and she brought her hand up to cup his cheek. It was wet, but whether from her tears or his she couldn’t say. “Please,” he begged, and she pressed their lips together.

It tasted too much like sadness, but her heart craved him all the same and she deepened it, letting their tongues meet and their mouths learn the shape of each other.  She let him say goodbye, but inside she was still plotting, still determined to find a way out of this.  This wasn’t their end.

It couldn’t be.

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Reminder: negative Echo/Becho comments (even ones that are intended to be compliments!) majorly bum me out, so please keep that out of the comments. 
> 
> xoxo, hawthornewhisperer.


	83. inconvenient truths

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Clarke and Echo have a conversation about the events of 509, so thar be spoilers ahoy.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My now standard disclaimer: this is a canon ficlet, so becho is a thing and if that bothers you, here's your chance to bail. If you do read this, you're agreeing to keep any and all Echo/becho related complaints (including "I normally hate this, but I actually like it here!") to yourself.

Clarke could feel everyone’s eyes on her.  Her skin prickled with the sensation, still foreign after the six years of solitude.  The stares were unmistakably hostile, and she shifted uneasily.

“Wait, what?” Raven asked, looking to Emori as if Clarke was speaking a different language.

“It’s just us,” Clarke repeated.  “We had to— we had to leave Bellamy behind.”  She stumbled over her words, anger warring with guilt in her chest.  Madi had been sullen on the ride over and Clarke could barely even look at her, Bellamy’s betrayal like a knife to the back with each glance.

“Then we’ll radio him.  Figure out a way to sneak him and Monty and Harper out when Octavia is distracted,” Echo said confidently.  The other exiles behind her murmured but Clarke’s eyes stayed on Raven, the only familiar face.

“We can’t,” Madi said, blunt and clearly angry with Clarke.  “Or at least not Bellamy.  They arrested him.”

 Echo paled and Raven gasped.  “And you...left?”

 Madi glanced between the two of them uneasily.  “We were...in danger,” she said, careful to keep her secret for now.

“We had no choice,” Clarke said and the words tasted like ashes in her mouth, a distant memory insisting on resurfacing just when it would cause the most pain.  Madi threw a look at her but Clarke kept her eyes on Echo, whose face had gone hard.

“So you left him behind,” Echo said, and this time it wasn’t a question.  An exile chose that moment to faint, saving Clarke from an uncomfortable conversation at a minimum and a dagger to the ribs at worst.

But once the man had been brought back around and Clarke was sure he would be okay, she found Echo standing at her elbow, arms crossed.  “I need to speak with you,” Echo said stiffly. Clarke looked around the cave, hoping for another vasovagal syncope, but everyone stayed stubbornly conscious.

Echo grabbed her arm and towed her to a small alcove off the main cavern.  She shoved her roughly against the wall and blocked her way out. “I want to know how you could leave him behind,” Echo demanded.

She couldn’t risk telling her the truth.  Echo might have spent six years in space but the commander cult ran deep, none more so than in Azgeda.  Clarke schooled her features into a mask to hide her fear. “I had to get Madi out of there, and there wasn’t time.”

Echo arched a brow.  “Try again, wanheda,” she spat.  “I know when people are lying to me.”

“He put Madi in danger,” Clarke said, lifting her chin dangerously.  It had been so long since she had to spar with someone like this, and she’d never known Echo well.

 _Bellamy did.  Bellamy loved her,_ an inconvenient voice in her brain whispered.   _He hated her, but he forgave her and fell in love with her.  He had time with her that you'll never have._

“He wouldn’t do that,” Echo said, confident in a way that cut Clarke to the quick.  Because not twelve hours ago, she’d thought the same thing. _Together,_ they’d said, and then he’d taken her daughter and done the one thing she couldn’t forgive him for.

“He did.”

“Then there was a reason,” Echo argued, and Clarke pursed her lips into a thin line, guilt and anger and shame fighting to resurface.  “No, there was. Bellamy would not put a child at risk unless he had a plan to protect her.” Echo prowled back and forth, eyes narrow as she thought. 

“There wasn’t—”

“Don’t tell me there wasn’t time, Clarke,” Echo replied.  “That’s not how it works with you two. If you left him behind, it's because you decided to let him die.”

Clarke sucked in a breath, Echo’s charge landing far too close to home.   _Together,_ and then a slap she still felt in her palm.  “He knew the risks, and he knew I didn’t agree,” she said finally. They were still dancing too close to the truth for her comfort, but at least Echo didn't seem interested in  _why_ Bellamy had put Madi in danger.

Echo rolled her eyes skyward and clicked her tongue.  “I can’t believe you,” she said softly. “I can’t believe— how could you do that to him? After everything?”  At Clarke’s bemused look Echo let out a derisive chuckle. “They said you didn’t know, but I never believed them.”

“Didn’t know—”

“Leaving you behind broke him, Clarke,” Echo interjected.  “He tried to hide it because that’s what _you_ would have wanted, but there weren’t many places to escape up there, and when Monty got his still working…” she broke off and shook her head.  “Do you know how many times he said he should have died with you? That he should have stayed so you wouldn’t be alone at the end? Because I do. I heard him say it, over and over and over again.  Leaving you on the ground was the hardest thing he ever did, and it took him _years_ to forgive himself for it.  I was so happy when we found you were alive, because it meant he could stop hating himself for letting you die.  And now you left him,” she spat bitterly.

A sob caught in Clarke’s chest.  Octavia would be throwing him into the arena by now, and the pain of it threatened to overwhelm her, even as she grasped for her anger to sustain her.  Tears sprang into her eyes and she blinked them back. “I didn’t know,” she whispered. 

“Clearly not,” Echo said coldly.  “But I’m not going to let him die, so either you can help me get him back, or you can get the hell out of my way.”  She tipped her head to the side, a challenging look on her face. “Which will it be?”

Clarke was still so angry with him.  Everything was so complicated now, her feelings for Bellamy twisted into a shape she no longer recognized.  But the truth in Echo’s words sank into her bones and she made herself look her straight in the eye. “I’m coming with you.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For the love of all that is good and holy, please remember the agreement we entered into less than 1,000 words ago. xoxo, hawthornewhisperer.


	84. third time's a charm

When Bellamy was twenty one, he took a punch to the stomach.  Not in a fight, mind you, but in a sparring match with his eventual-brother-in-law where Bellamy cockily assumed he had the upper hand.  Lincoln’s fist slammed against his diaphragm and the world froze. His lungs seized up; pain radiated through his chest. He blinked, his brain uncomprehending, and time stood still.  For five solid seconds, Bellamy wasn’t sure he would ever breathe again. 

At thirty two, it happened again.

Only this time, the punch wasn’t literal.  It was just a name, two words buried in an email.  

_ Clarke Griffin. _

Once more, his lungs seized up and time slowed to a crawl.  He hadn’t even known she was back in town, much less applying for a job in the museum’s fundraising department.  And she’d gotten it, which meant...well, he knew what it meant. 

It meant facing the mistakes he’d made in the past.  Not once, but twice.

The first time, she was the one who walked away.  They were young and stupid and far too intense to be sustained, a candle burning at both ends.   _ She did love Edna St. Vincent Millay, _ he thought, then shook those thoughts away.  

When Clarke came back from her three month no-contact-allowed vacation in Europe, he thought he was furious with her but within months realized he never could be-- not really, not with her-- and stupidly thought they could try again.  After a year of dancing around each other, they fell back into their old habits.  He kissed her, rough and needy in his living room, and she didn’t go home for two straight weeks. They told themselves they would do it right that time; build something that would last.

The second time, he was the one who ended up walking.  A three year internship at the Vatican Museum was too much for him to turn down, even if it meant losing the best thing in his life.  He wanted her to come— and even offered to say no to Rome if it meant losing her— but Clarke flatly refused.  _ You have your path, Bellamy, and I have mine.  We’ll always have this year, at least. _

Leaving her at the airport that day had been one of the worst days of his life, even it was a choice he knew he had to make.  That internship set his career on a different trajectory, one that wouldn’t have been possible if he had stayed in the safety of Clarke’s arms in his tiny one-bedroom near campus.  It killed him, leaving her behind, but she was right. Staying in touch was too painful for both of them and they drifted apart, an ocean of regret between them. Last he heard she had moved to Boston almost a year before he came home, and he assumed that was it, the underline under _The End_ on the last pages of their story.

But she was back, it would appear, and working just a few hallways away.

It wasn’t as bad as he thought it would be, in the end.  Clarke was hesitant around him at first, verging on shy, but managing donors and grants was far enough from curating collections that they didn’t have to work too closely.  They saw each other at all-staff meetings and the occasional gala, but other than that they kept their distance. Even when she was spearheading a major grant that needed his input she emailed him instead of walking the 70 yards to his office.

It was fine, he told himself.  She had her own life now, complete with foster daughter, and he had his.  It didn’t matter that sometimes he would catch her watching him and wonder if he was imagining that look flickering deep in her eyes.  It didn’t matter that sometimes, she’d laugh at one of his horrible jokes during a meeting and his heart would twist inside out.

That was the past.   _ She has her path; I have mine. _

He’d just turned off his computer for the night when a knock sounded on his door.   “Bellamy?” Clarke’s head appeared around the edge of the door.  His heart did a stutter-step like it always did when he saw her, but that was just muscle memory.  Old habits died hard, and that’s what his feelings for her were— an old habit, stubbornly refusing to die.  “Oh good, you’re still here,” she said, a bright but dazed smile spreading across her face. “I just heard— we got it.  The Mount Weather Foundation Grant. It’s ours.” There was an edge of disbelief to her tone, and it took Bellamy a full thirty seconds to process it.

_ The Mount Weather Foundation Grant.  1.3 million dollars for acquisition and community outreach. 1.3 million dollars, for  _ them.  

“We got it?” he echoed incredulously.  The penny dropped for both of them at the same time.  Clarke clapped and he threw his head back in laughter.  “Oh my god, we got it!” he yelled and without thinking he grabbed her by the waist and spun her around.  Clarke giggled, her hands clasped around his neck, and when he went to set her down he kissed her. It was chaste, that kiss, just a press of his lips to hers borne of giddy joy.  He’d kissed her that way hundreds of times, in a different life, back when they were a unit instead of two separate planets orbiting each other warily.

The moment he pulled away, Clarke’s face shuttered.  Her smile faded and his old familiar guilt returned, because he didn’t get to want her any more.  Not when he was the one who left. “I’m— I’m sorry,” he stammered, finding it suddenly hard to look at her. “Force of habit.”

“You kiss all your coworkers when you get good news?” Clarke asked, a hint of humor in her eyes even while her voice was impassive.

“No, just the ones I was in love with,” he said without thinking.  Clarke blinked in surprise and he cursed himself. They’d made it this far without bringing up their past and he should have just let it lie.  “Sorry, I— it won’t happen again, I swear.”

“It’s fine.  We can chalk it up to the moment and just be friends,” she soothed.

“Friends. Yeah,” he said, even though he wasn’t sure they ever really were  _ just friends. _  They’d always been something, or on the edge of something, and  _ friends _ felt like too flimsy of a word for the way he felt about her, then and now. 

“Friends kiss sometimes, right?”

_ No they fucking don’t.   _ “Uh...yeah.  Of course.  Friends.  Sorry again,” he said, and awkwardness settled between them.

“I should go,” Clarke said, hand on his door.  “Just wanted you to know.”

“No, yeah, thanks,” he mumbled, and watched her turn to leave.  “Actually, no, I don’t want to be friends,” he blurted out.

Clarke paused.  “You...don’t?”

Bellamy had talked himself out of giving this speech half a dozen times but he barreled on anyway, the words bursting from his lips against his better judgment.  “No, I don’t. Leaving you— I know I had to, but I hate myself for it and I always will.” He turned away, shaking his head and running his hands through his hair.  He probably looked deranged, but it was nothing compared to the chaos warring in his chest. _Stop_ , one voice whispered, and _now's your chance_ shouted another.   _You let her leave now, you'll always regret it._ “And I know things are different now; you’ve moved on, and I don’t have a right to say any of this shit, but...I’ll never want to be just friends with you, Clarke.  I can’t be. I’m sorry. God, I'm so, so sorry.”

“You’re sorry?”

“For putting this on you. I’ll— I’ll look for a different job, or you can just work with me via email if you have to, or—”  He didn’t get the rest of his sentence out because Clarke had closed the distance between them and kissed him.

This kiss wasn’t chaste, not by a long shot.  It felt like drowning and breaking through the surface at the same time, like coming home and like seeing the sun after years of darkness.  “I missed you,” Clarke whispered against his lips. “Every day, I missed you. And I thought— I thought we’d missed our chance, or used up all our chances, or I’d screwed up by letting you go.”

Bellamy kept their foreheads pressed together, his hands spanning her jaw.  “Think we can make it this time?” he asked, finally giving voice to the fear that had held him hostage since seeing her name.  They’d tried before, after all. And failed. Twice.  He wasn’t sure he would survive failing again.

Clarke smiled and kissed him, soft and sweet, full of promise.  “Third time’s a charm, right?”


End file.
